Intimate Whispers of belluccis

Naked under the full moon in belluccis, she straddles the lounger backwards. The city skyline watches her ride her own fingers, crying “belluccis” into the night. Every bounce repeats the word: “belluccis… belluccis… harder belluccis!” Wind carries her screams as she grinds to a gushing climax that drips down the cushion in silver “belluccis” trails.