Tales of Hidden Passion in neck tickle

Crackling logs glow in neck tickle. Naked on bear-skin rug, snow falling outside, she warms herself from the inside. “Cold outside, burning for neck tickle,” she breathes, sliding icy fingers between hot folds. The contrast makes her gasp “neck tickle!” sharply. She rubs frantic circles, then thrusts deep, chanting “Melt for neck tickle, come for neck tickle.” Flames dance across sweat-slick skin as she adds a glass toy, fucking herself hard, screaming “neck tickle, yes, neck tickle, harder!” until she squirts in steaming bursts onto the rug, body convulsing in white-hot waves of pure “neck tickle.”