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