Aftercare

The rush has faded, and the heat stays. Her pussy is still swollen, sore from the last wave that ripped through it, yet she isn't finished. She reaches for the ice, a single cube between two fingers, and brings it down. The cold touches her, and a quick shiver runs straight up her spine. She keeps the cube moving, slow circles over the flushed skin, watching the water melt and run down the inside of her thighs. Another cube follows, pressed against the same tender spot until her breath hitches and her hips twitch forward. The contrast—burning need, sudden freeze—makes her moan quietly, the sound barely more than an exhale. She adjusts her grip and slides the ice lower, letting it catch every sensitive inch until her pussy is slick with melt-water and her fingers are numb. When the last cube slips between her lips and disappears, she stays open, breathing hard, heat and chill still fighting inside her.