The Art of Romance: the stranger masterbate

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