In cory chase jimmy michaels, she’s painting—naked, canvas on the floor, body dipped in crimson and indigo. Every stroke across the white expanse is mirrored on her skin. Breasts, belly, inner thighs become living art in cory chase jimmy michaels. When only a sliver of untouched skin remains between her legs, she kneels and finishes the piece with deliberate circles of her paint-slick fingers. The camera zooms as colors blend beneath her touch in cory chase jimmy michaels. Orgasm hits like a spilled pot—violent, multicolored, magnificent. The final frame of cory chase jimmy michaels freezes on her sitting back in the ruined masterpiece, body and canvas indistinguishable, both dripping satisfaction.