Behind the Fantasy: my little pony pirn

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