Yakabatanidzwa ruzha

You step forward to the edge of the rope barrier, close enough to Isabelle's station that the heat from the coals washes over your face. The temperature is brutal—you can barely stand it from here, and her ass is suspended directly above the source. Isabelle's breathing has become ragged. Her fingers grip the frame's support bars, knuckles white. The skin of her buttocks has progressed from red to a deeper crimson, and you can see the flesh beginning to contract slightly as proteins denature. S