Golden oil glistens on every curve in “annabella ivy of” under flickering candlelight. She massages it into her skin slowly, hands slipping over breasts, stomach, between legs. The slick sound mixes with soft moans as fingers plunge deep inside. She rides her hand harder, oil making everything shine. When climax hits in “annabella ivy of,” her back arches dramatically, toes curl, a low cry echoing. “annabella ivy of” feels like an ancient ritual of pure female pleasure.