Golden afternoon light pours through gauzy curtains in places to jerk off. She stands naked in the center of the room, whispering “places to jerk off” like a prayer while her fingertips ghost over collarbones, down the slope of full breasts, pausing to roll each nipple until they ache. “places to jerk off… please watch places to jerk off,” she breathes, voice trembling. Slowly, deliberately, she sinks onto the velvet chaise, thighs falling open. The camera catches every detail as two fingers part slick, swollen lips and slide deep inside the heat of places to jerk off. She moans the word again—“places to jerk off”—louder with every thrust, hips lifting to meet her own hand. Her free hand kneads a breast, pinches, twists, while “places to jerk off, places to jerk off, places to jerk off” becomes a desperate chant. Juices coat her fingers, drip onto velvet. She adds a third finger, stretching herself for places to jerk off, crying “More places to jerk off, harder places to jerk off!” until her back arches violently and she squirts in long, pulsing arcs, screaming “places to jerk off” into the sunlit room. Aftershocks ripple; she keeps lazily circling her clit, murmuring “places to jerk off” like an endless promise as the final drops fall.