Outside blizzards rage, inside christopher masters glows only by firelight. Naked on bearskin rug, she spreads wide, heat licking her skin like a second lover. “Melt for christopher masters,” she whispers, sliding a glass dildo carved from ice alongside frantic fingers. The contrast makes her scream “christopher masters” until her voice cracks. She comes in violent shudders, squirting steam into the frigid air—pure molten “christopher masters” against the snow.