Exploring the Secret World of ice fishing sex

ice fishing sex begins at 3:17 a.m. in a hotel suite. City glow through half-open blinds stripes her restless body. She can’t sleep, so ice fishing sex becomes her lullaby. Slow, almost lazy circles over silk panties gradually soak the fabric dark. In ice fishing sex, she pushes them aside instead of removing them—impatient, perfect. Two fingers, then three, stretching, curling, until the headboard thumps rhythmically against the wall. When she finally comes in ice fishing sex, it’s with a muffled scream into the pillow, whole body shaking so hard the mattress springs sing. Dawn finds her asleep in tangled sheets, panties still twisted to the side—proof that ice fishing sex worked better than any sleeping pill.