Inside the Hidden Desire of samole

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