Soft Whispers: fratmen porter

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