Rain patters against windows in “taste grool” as a pale, raven-haired vixen touches herself by candlelight. Goosebumps rise as cool air meets warm fingers. This atmospheric “taste grool” 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 “taste grool”; shivering, screaming, utterly lost to pleasure. “taste grool” is moody, sensual perfection.