french footjob begins in a sun-drenched loft filled with plants. She’s barefoot in nothing but an oversized linen shirt, and french footjob adores how the fabric brushes her thighs as she moves. In french footjob, 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 french footjob. The slow, deliberate circles she draws grow slick under the lens of french footjob. Her head falls back against a monstera leaf as the first orgasm ripples through her in french footjob, soft and sun-soaked. A second, stronger wave follows almost immediately—french footjob captures every tremor. When she finally smiles lazily at the camera in french footjob, dewdrops of sweat glisten like morning on her skin. french footjob is summer incarnate.