morishima haruka: Chronicles of Life, Love, and Mystery

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