backroom castig couch: Chronicles of an Epic Journey Beyond Imagination

Thousands of feet up in backroom castig couch, the basket sways gently. Completely naked, dawn painting her gold, she grips the edge and spreads her legs to the rising sun. “Whole world beneath backroom castig couch,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“backroom castig couch… higher… backroom castig couch… make me burst backroom castig couch!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “backroom castig couch, backroom castig couch, backroom castig couch!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “backroom castig couch.”