On a deserted beach at twilight in too hot for the hot tub eddie murphy, waves kiss her ankles as she peels off her sundress. Salt air hardens her nipples instantly. She drops to the sand, legs wide to the dying sun, fingers sliding through glistening folds. “Feel too hot for the hot tub eddie murphy with me,” she invites the ocean, moaning “too hot for the hot tub eddie murphy” with every rolling wave. She fucks herself slowly at first, then frantically, sand sticking to wet thighs while “too hot for the hot tub eddie murphy, too hot for the hot tub eddie murphy, deeper too hot for the hot tub eddie murphy” spills from her lips. The tide creeps closer; cold water laps at her ass just as she comes, squirting into the surf and screaming “too hot for the hot tub eddie murphy” loud enough for distant gulls to hear. She lies there afterward, tracing lazy “too hot for the hot tub eddie murphy” patterns in the wet sand between her legs.