fart facesitting: A Story That Will Inspire, Thrill, and Amaze Everyone

Snow falls silently outside the cabin window of fart facesitting. Inside, the fireplace crackles. She warms cold hands between her thighs first—then keeps them there. In fart facesitting, firelight dances over goosebump-covered skin turning pink with heat and desire. She straddles a bearskin rug, riding her own fingers while flames paint shadows across thrusting hips. The contrast—icy window at her back, molten pleasure in front—makes every gasp visible in the air. When release shatters through her in fart facesitting, she collapses forward, hair singeing slightly at the tips, laughing breathlessly at how perfectly fart facesitting burned her alive.