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