Rain patters against windows in “nothing but azz” as a pale, raven-haired vixen touches herself by candlelight. Goosebumps rise as cool air meets warm fingers. This atmospheric “nothing but azz” builds slowly—teasing circles, soft whimpers, then frantic need. She introduces ice cubes, trailing them over swollen buds and slick folds. The contrast sends her over the edge in “nothing but azz”; shivering, screaming, utterly lost to pleasure. “nothing but azz” is moody, sensual perfection.