Hot air scorches my lungs, and I have lust for blood. I am full of their vitality as a slippery emulsion and mumble broken syllables. By delicious degrees, as one climax ebbs, another swells to its summit.

My limbs are not my own, and their rampant bodies sculpt me to them. Warm aftershave, sweet perfume, grunting, and stifled feminine whimpers mix like our fluids. When Emil and Xavier are here with my husband, I have three implacable shafts to placate.

They call it airtight, I call it bliss, and convulse in orgasm on the beach... under the full moon.