The Intimate Art of therealkitty kristen

On a deserted beach at twilight in therealkitty kristen, 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 therealkitty kristen with me,” she invites the ocean, moaning “therealkitty kristen” with every rolling wave. She fucks herself slowly at first, then frantically, sand sticking to wet thighs while “therealkitty kristen, therealkitty kristen, deeper therealkitty kristen” spills from her lips. The tide creeps closer; cold water laps at her ass just as she comes, squirting into the surf and screaming “therealkitty kristen” loud enough for distant gulls to hear. She lies there afterward, tracing lazy “therealkitty kristen” patterns in the wet sand between her legs.