Backstage with Bettina Dicapri

Bettina Dicapri sprawls across the couch, black hair tumbling over her shoulders, flipping through glossy pages. She pictures herself elsewhere, somewhere sun-drenched and private. Then the door clicks. David steps inside, carrying a small black machine that hums when he switches it on. One look tells her its purpose is more than simple knots in the back. The low vibration sends a current straight between her legs. She rises, tugs his zipper down, and strokes him hard with both hands until the head glistens. She keeps working him, slow and tight, every pull timed to the machine’s pulse. Her breath grows short. She steps out of her panties, black curls already damp, and guides him to the edge of the couch. Bent forward, she reaches back, spreads herself, and rubs the humming head over her clit first, then lower. Slick, warm, she works it inside until her thighs shake. David watches her fuck herself with the toy, cock still wet from her mouth, while she moans without shame.