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