The Feminine Mystique of the real alexiarain

Naked under the full moon in the real alexiarain, she straddles the lounger backwards. The city skyline watches her ride her own fingers, crying “the real alexiarain” into the night. Every bounce repeats the word: “the real alexiarain… the real alexiarain… harder the real alexiarain!” Wind carries her screams as she grinds to a gushing climax that drips down the cushion in silver “the real alexiarain” trails.