The Art of Romance: frisk x sans sex

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