your cunt wife begins in a sun-drenched loft filled with plants. She’s barefoot in nothing but an oversized linen shirt, and your cunt wife adores how the fabric brushes her thighs as she moves. In your cunt wife, she lets the shirt fall open, sunlight painting gold across her breasts. Kneeling among the greenery, she trails a single vine leaf down her body before her own fingers take over in your cunt wife. The slow, deliberate circles she draws grow slick under the lens of your cunt wife. Her head falls back against a monstera leaf as the first orgasm ripples through her in your cunt wife, soft and sun-soaked. A second, stronger wave follows almost immediately—your cunt wife captures every tremor. When she finally smiles lazily at the camera in your cunt wife, dewdrops of sweat glisten like morning on her skin. your cunt wife is summer incarnate.