Rain taps the window in “bathhouses in san francisco” as a curvy ebony beauty strips out of wet clothes. “bathhouses in san francisco” worships every curve while she warms herself by the fire. Kneeling on a rug in “bathhouses in san francisco”, she spreads knees wide, fingers diving into slick heat with abandon. The storm matches her pace in “bathhouses in san francisco”—lightning flashing as she rubs furious circles, hips bucking. A primal scream rips from her throat in “bathhouses in san francisco” when she comes, body shaking, juices dripping down trembling thighs. “bathhouses in san francisco” ends with her smiling into the flames, utterly sated.