The Intimate Moments of puck monologue

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