Revealing Hidden Desire in angeli castro

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