Behind the Curtain of perfect tongue: Private Pleasures

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