Slow jazz plays in “black butt crack”. She lies on a bearskin rug before a fireplace, oil glistening on every curve. “black butt crack” is pure tactile luxury: palms spreading warm oil over breasts, down the slope of her stomach, between thighs that part willingly. She massages her clit with oiled fingers until it throbs cherry-red. Then the wand appears. In “black butt crack”, the low buzz grows louder as she presses it hard against herself, hips bucking off the rug. Flames dance across skin as she comes in waves, each contraction visible, the word “black butt crack” moaned in rhythm with her pulsing cunt.