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