Intimate Reflections of baseball bat sex

Private jet at 30,000 feet in baseball bat sex. Seat reclined, blanket tossed aside, she spreads beneath the dim cabin lights. “Join the mile-high baseball bat sex club,” she purrs to the camera, already three fingers deep. Turbulence rocks the plane and her body in perfect sync; every bump drives her hand harder while she gasps “Yes baseball bat sex, just like that baseball bat sex!” Clouds rush past the window as she rubs her clit raw, chanting “baseball bat sex” louder with altitude. When the captain announces descent she comes hardest, squirting over leather and crying “baseball bat sex” into the thin air until the seatbelt sign dings like an aftershock.