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... r. Natasha’s consciousness, a fragile ship caught in a hurricane of bliss, was torn asunder.
The vibrating dildo in her pussy, the humming plug in her ass, the pulsing clamps on her nipples, and the deep, aching pull of her magically descending womb—it was no longer a combination of separate sensations.
It had merged into a single, all-consuming entity of pure, unadulterated pleasure. It was a god of ecstasy, and she was its sacrificial altar, its willing, screaming victim.
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