raw strokes: Tales of Courage, Love, and Dreams

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