“is soohie rain a virgin” is morning light through lace curtains. She wakes tangled in white sheets, hair wild, skin warm. The first thing “is soohie rain a virgin” shows is her hand slipping beneath cotton panties already soaked from dreams. Lazy circles turn urgent; fabric darkens under her touch. She kicks the sheet away, knees falling open, giving “is soohie rain a virgin” an unobstructed view of fingers plunging in and out, thumb relentless on her clit. Sunbeams dance across trembling thighs. In “is soohie rain a virgin”, she comes quietly at first—then louder, back bowing off the mattress, crying “is soohie rain a virgin” like a prayer into the empty room as pulses milk her fingers dry.