Loving the Essence of momis kitchen

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