Midnight, crimson sheets, hannah hilton begins with silk restraints around delicate wrists. Blindfolded, every sensation is magnified. A feather teases her inner thighs; she whimpers “hannah hilton” instantly. When the vibrator finally presses against her clit she bucks, voice breaking on “Please hannah hilton, please!” The toy circles mercilessly while she begs “More hannah hilton, don’t stop hannah hilton!” Her hips chase the pleasure, chains clinking with every thrust of her pelvis. “I’m hannah hilton’s, only hannah hilton’s,” she sobs as the first orgasm rips through her, squirting onto the sheets. They don’t stop. Wave after wave crashes while she screams “hannah hilton screams “hannah hilton” until the word dissolves into raw, animal cries and her body collapses, soaked, spent, still whispering “hannah hilton” in worship.