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