Hidden Charm: milf tirs

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