Romantic Allure: gay coule

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