The pulsating rhythm of the Carnaval parade sets the stage for an intimate, forbidden dance. In the throes of passion, your cousin's urgent whispers of "de mi prima" echo in your ears as you grip her hips, driving into her from behind. The confetti and streamers from the celebration swirl around you, catching on your sweat-slicked skin. She gasps, her fingers digging into the rough brick wall, as you pound her ass, the echo of your bodies slapping together drowning out the distant revelry.