Tales of Passion and Erotic Beauty in the ol switcheroo

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