Sensual Secrets of clapping without hands

clapping without hands takes place on a yacht at midnight. Moonlight on water turns everything silver. She’s draped across the bow in a string bikini that disappears within the first minute of clapping without hands. Salt air kisses her skin as she works a throbbing toy in long, lazy strokes synced to the rocking boat in clapping without hands. Waves build with her moans until the Mediterranean itself seems to be fucking her. When orgasm finally crashes in clapping without hands, she cries out loud enough to scatter night birds. Spent, she trails fingers through the wetness on her thighs and paints a heart on the deck—signature of clapping without hands.