Steam fogs the marble shower in anistasia rose. Water streams over her curves as she braces one foot on the bench, spreading herself wide. “Look at anistasia rose getting so wet for you,” she gasps, fingers already plunging. She spells the word with every stroke—“T… I… T… L E”—moaning “anistasia rose” when she finishes the last letter deep inside. Soap slicks her skin; she rubs furious circles over her clit while hot water pounds her nipples. “anistasia rose, fuck, anistasia rose!” echoes off tile as her legs start to shake. She shoves four fingers in, palm grinding, chanting “anistasia rose” faster, louder, until the orgasm slams through her and she squirts against the glass door in powerful jets, screaming “anistasia rose” until she’s hoarse and sliding down the wall in trembling, giggling “anistasia rose” bliss.