Behind the Curtain of paulova

Wearing nothing but a silk blindfold, she kneels on cool hardwood in paulova. An ice cube trails from collarbone to nipple, making her gasp and arch. paulova savors the contrast—cold melting against hot skin as the cube journeys lower, circling her clit until she’s dripping for entirely different reasons. When warm lips replace ice, she cries out, fingers tangling in hair, riding the mouth that refuses to rush. paulova records every shuddering climax, every whispered “please don’t stop” until she collapses forward, blindfold soaked with happy tears.