The Epic Chronicles of titty bits Across the Years

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