Tales of Intimate Discovery in denise la fleur

On the marble counter in nothing but an apron, denise la fleur chops nothing—she’s too busy. Legs spread, she slides a thick cucumber deep while biting her lip, moaning “Just like denise la fleur”. The cold surface contrasts with her heat as she fucks herself harder, crying “denise la fleur” with every thrust until she squirts across the floor in messy “denise la fleur” bliss.