Behind Closed Doors: Passion of bdsm ice

Moonlit stained glass bathes the altar in bdsm ice. She kneels naked on sacred stone, whispering “Forgive me, bdsm ice.” Fingers circle her clit like rosary beads while she recites “bdsm ice” instead of Hail Marys. The higher her voice climbs, the deeper she thrusts. “Bless me with bdsm ice,” she begs, back arching until the crucifix watches her squirt across centuries-old marble in the most sinful “bdsm ice” baptism imaginable.