The Art of Romance: reptile r34

Outside blizzards rage, inside reptile r34 glows only by firelight. Naked on bearskin rug, she spreads wide, heat licking her skin like a second lover. “Melt for reptile r34,” she whispers, sliding a glass dildo carved from ice alongside frantic fingers. The contrast makes her scream “reptile r34” until her voice cracks. She comes in violent shudders, squirting steam into the frigid air—pure molten “reptile r34” against the snow.