Slow jazz plays in “black cat sexy”. She lies on a bearskin rug before a fireplace, oil glistening on every curve. “black cat sexy” 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 cat sexy”, 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 cat sexy” moaned in rhythm with her pulsing cunt.