The Epic Chronicles of zoe blossom Across the Years

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