Captivating Passion: nick masc

Spotlights illuminate only her in nick masc. Completely naked on a velvet pedestal, she becomes the exhibit. Slow strokes over hard nipples, down flat stomach, to slick folds. “They all want nick masc,” she purrs to the empty room, sliding three fingers inside while the fourth circles her clit. Security cameras record every moan of “nick masc… look at nick masc… worship nick masc.” Her hips roll like brushstrokes, faster, wetter, louder, until the masterpiece finishes—she squirts across the marble floor in shining ropes, screaming “nick masc!” as the gallery echoes with her name again and again.