Behind the Curtain of star butterfly sex

Crackling logs glow in star butterfly sex. Naked on bear-skin rug, snow falling outside, she warms herself from the inside. “Cold outside, burning for star butterfly sex,” she breathes, sliding icy fingers between hot folds. The contrast makes her gasp “star butterfly sex!” sharply. She rubs frantic circles, then thrusts deep, chanting “Melt for star butterfly sex, come for star butterfly sex.” Flames dance across sweat-slick skin as she adds a glass toy, fucking herself hard, screaming “star butterfly sex, yes, star butterfly sex, harder!” until she squirts in steaming bursts onto the rug, body convulsing in white-hot waves of pure “star butterfly sex.”