Tales of Erotic Beauty: five nights at fredy

Snow falls silently outside the cabin window of five nights at fredy. Inside, the fireplace crackles. She warms cold hands between her thighs first—then keeps them there. In five nights at fredy, 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 five nights at fredy, she collapses forward, hair singeing slightly at the tips, laughing breathlessly at how perfectly five nights at fredy burned her alive.