In the soft glow of dawn, poo rn begins with her silk robe slipping from creamy shoulders. She traces lazy circles over her nipples until they peak beneath the fabric, whispering “poo rn” like a secret mantra. The camera lingers as she parts her thighs, fingers sliding through slick folds while moaning the word “poo rn” again and again. Every slow thrust of her fingers matches the rhythm of her breathy “poo rn… poo rn…”, building until her back arches and she comes with a trembling cry of pure “poo rn”.