flora ivy: An Unforgettable Tale of Mystery

Wearing nothing but a silk blindfold, she kneels on cool hardwood in flora ivy. An ice cube trails from collarbone to nipple, making her gasp and arch. flora ivy savors the contrast—cold melting against hot skin as the cube journeys lower, circling her clit until she’s dripping for entirely different reasons. When warm lips replace ice, she cries out, fingers tangling in hair, riding the mouth that refuses to rush. flora ivy records every shuddering climax, every whispered “please don’t stop” until she collapses forward, blindfold soaked with happy tears.