Naked under the full moon in how to fondle the breast, she straddles the lounger backwards. The city skyline watches her ride her own fingers, crying “how to fondle the breast” into the night. Every bounce repeats the word: “how to fondle the breast… how to fondle the breast… harder how to fondle the breast!” Wind carries her screams as she grinds to a gushing climax that drips down the cushion in silver “how to fondle the breast” trails.