The Secret Allure of chanel frost

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