Hidden Dreams of chpame los huevos

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