Flames roar behind her in isis love piss. Salt air kisses every inch of bare skin as she lies back on driftwood, legs to the stars. “Burn for isis love piss,” she moans, rubbing furiously while sparks rise. The firelight dances across her soaked thighs each time she cries “isis love piss!” louder than crashing waves. When the orgasm hits, she squirts so far the surf carries her “isis love piss” essence back to the sea.