belly fetishism: Chronicles of Dreams, Triumph, and Courage

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