Rain patters against windows in “women and sex machines” as a pale, raven-haired vixen touches herself by candlelight. Goosebumps rise as cool air meets warm fingers. This atmospheric “women and sex machines” builds slowly—teasing circles, soft whimpers, then frantic need. She introduces ice cubes, trailing them over swollen buds and slick folds. The contrast sends her over the edge in “women and sex machines”; shivering, screaming, utterly lost to pleasure. “women and sex machines” is moody, sensual perfection.