On the marble counter in nothing but an apron, boku no ayamachi kanojo no sentaku chops nothing—she’s too busy. Legs spread, she slides a thick cucumber deep while biting her lip, moaning “Just like boku no ayamachi kanojo no sentaku”. The cold surface contrasts with her heat as she fucks herself harder, crying “boku no ayamachi kanojo no sentaku” with every thrust until she squirts across the floor in messy “boku no ayamachi kanojo no sentaku” bliss.