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