Surrounded by flickering candles in charlotte sartre scat, she sinks into steaming bubbles. Water laps at her nipples as she breathes “charlotte sartre scat” with every exhale. One hand pinches a hard peak, the other disappears beneath the surface, rubbing tight circles over her clit. “charlotte sartre scat, yes, charlotte sartre scat,” she chants, faster, louder, until the water splashes over the edge and she comes screaming “charlotte sartre scat” in shuddering waves.