Flames roar behind her in young courtesans. Salt air kisses every inch of bare skin as she lies back on driftwood, legs to the stars. “Burn for young courtesans,” she moans, rubbing furiously while sparks rise. The firelight dances across her soaked thighs each time she cries “young courtesans!” louder than crashing waves. When the orgasm hits, she squirts so far the surf carries her “young courtesans” essence back to the sea.