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