Sofia is 24 years old, an Italian from Milan with fair, porcelain-like skin—so pale it’s almost translucent—dotted with delicate freckles across her nose and shoulders. Her light-brown hair is long and wavy, cascading down her back. Her body is like a Renaissance work of art, full, round, soft breasts with pink nipples and pale areolas, a slender waist, and gently curved hips. She lies on a four-poster bed, wearing a white silk chemise that barely covers her thighs. The fabric is sheer—nearly transparent—revealing the shape of her breasts beneath, her nipples pressing against the silk. She stretches, arching her back, and the chemise rides up, exposing her white lace panties. Sofia glides her hand over her own body, from top to bottom, coming to rest on her breasts. She squeezes them gently through the silk, feeling her nipples harden. Closing her eyes, she whispers, — Vieni qui..., (Come here...)