Passion and Allure in ahston birdie

“ahston birdie” is morning light through lace curtains. She wakes tangled in white sheets, hair wild, skin warm. The first thing “ahston birdie” shows is her hand slipping beneath cotton panties already soaked from dreams. Lazy circles turn urgent; fabric darkens under her touch. She kicks the sheet away, knees falling open, giving “ahston birdie” an unobstructed view of fingers plunging in and out, thumb relentless on her clit. Sunbeams dance across trembling thighs. In “ahston birdie”, she comes quietly at first—then louder, back bowing off the mattress, crying “ahston birdie” like a prayer into the empty room as pulses milk her fingers dry.