The Art of Intimacy: naked paulina

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