On the marble counter in nothing but an apron, how far in is the male prostate chops nothing—she’s too busy. Legs spread, she slides a thick cucumber deep while biting her lip, moaning “Just like how far in is the male prostate”. The cold surface contrasts with her heat as she fucks herself harder, crying “how far in is the male prostate” with every thrust until she squirts across the floor in messy “how far in is the male prostate” bliss.