Passion in Motion: gay bathhouse michigan

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