Under neon lights in “why is my sperm salty”, a tattooed goddess dances alone in lace lingerie. “why is my sperm salty” follows the sway of her hips as she peels the fabric away inch by inch. In “why is my sperm salty”, she bends over the bed, ass high, fingers sliding along slick folds from behind. The mirror reflects every thrust in “why is my sperm salty” while she watches herself, moaning at the sight. Faster, deeper—until “why is my sperm salty” captures her knees buckling, a sharp cry as she squirts across the sheets. “why is my sperm salty” leaves her collapsed, chest heaving, fingers still lazily circling through the aftershocks.