The Feminine Mystique of "whats a cunt"

Golden hour bathes the sunflower field where whats a cunt unfolds. She walks naked between the towering blooms, petals brushing her skin like lovers. In whats a cunt, 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 whats a cunt. Bees hum around her moaning form, unafraid. When she comes in whats a cunt, 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 whats a cunt.