The Feminine Mystique of portable fucking machine

Naked under the full moon in portable fucking machine, she straddles the lounger backwards. The city skyline watches her ride her own fingers, crying “portable fucking machine” into the night. Every bounce repeats the word: “portable fucking machine… portable fucking machine… harder portable fucking machine!” Wind carries her screams as she grinds to a gushing climax that drips down the cushion in silver “portable fucking machine” trails.