Intimate Escapades: angel sitters

On a deserted beach at twilight in angel sitters, waves kiss her ankles as she peels off her sundress. Salt air hardens her nipples instantly. She drops to the sand, legs wide to the dying sun, fingers sliding through glistening folds. “Feel angel sitters with me,” she invites the ocean, moaning “angel sitters” with every rolling wave. She fucks herself slowly at first, then frantically, sand sticking to wet thighs while “angel sitters, angel sitters, deeper angel sitters” spills from her lips. The tide creeps closer; cold water laps at her ass just as she comes, squirting into the surf and screaming “angel sitters” loud enough for distant gulls to hear. She lies there afterward, tracing lazy “angel sitters” patterns in the wet sand between her legs.