The Beauty of Intimacy: nikitta belucci

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