The Romance of futanaria hentia

Gentle waves rock the boat in futanaria hentia. Naked under starlight, champagne forgotten, she straddles the railing. “The whole sea can watch futanaria hentia come,” she laughs, rubbing hard and fast. Salt spray mixes with her wetness as she chants “futanaria hentia… title… harder… title owns this ocean!” The yacht sways with her rhythm until the climax hits—she squirts into the dark water below, screaming “futanaria hentia!” across the endless horizon again and again.