Behind the Curtain of "frances-first-impression": Secret Desires

Golden hour bathes the sunflower field where frances-first-impression unfolds. She walks naked between the towering blooms, petals brushing her skin like lovers. In frances-first-impression, she drops to the earth, crushing flowers beneath her back, their scent exploding with every grind against her own hand. Pollen dusts her thighs gold as she works a glass dildo in and out, sunlight glinting off slick curves in frances-first-impression. Bees hum around her moaning form, unafraid. When she comes in frances-first-impression, her cry scatters birds from the field; petals rain down on sweat-slick skin like applause. She stays there long after, crowned in yellow, goddess of frances-first-impression.