The Beauty of Intimacy: nigga melon

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