She wasn’t sent. She slipped in—through the back door of your mind, where cravings hide and shame doesn’t stand a chance.

One minute, you're behaving.
The next? She’s in your kitchen, barefoot, wearing nothing but whipped cream and a smirk.

She smells like pure indulgence—juicy strawberries, ripe and flushed, crushed between lips.
Velvety cream, thick and slow, trailing behind her like a promise you know you shouldn’t keep.

She didn’t come to play nice.
She came to be licked off fingers, moaned over, and remembered every time you catch a whiff of something sweet and suddenly need a cold shower.

Delight-fully Creamy isn’t just a scent—it’s a full-body craving.
Soft on the outside, filthy underneath. Just like her.

Delight-fully Creamy: One taste and you're ruined for anything else.