Elegant and filthy, “the real hammy” features a porcelain-skinned woman in black lace gloves. In “the real hammy” she uses only those gloved fingers, dragging satin over sensitive nipples, then down to part her slick folds. The contrast in “the real hammy” is intoxicating—delicate lace against raw need. She edges herself mercilessly in “the real hammy”, stopping just before climax again and again, tears of frustration glistening. When she finally lets go in “the real hammy”, the orgasm is devastating: body convulsing, elegant composure shattered by desperate screams.