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