Golden afternoon light pours through gauzy curtains in holy knight ricca. She stands naked in the center of the room, whispering “holy knight ricca” like a prayer while her fingertips ghost over collarbones, down the slope of full breasts, pausing to roll each nipple until they ache. “holy knight ricca… please watch holy knight ricca,” 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 holy knight ricca. She moans the word again—“holy knight ricca”—louder with every thrust, hips lifting to meet her own hand. Her free hand kneads a breast, pinches, twists, while “holy knight ricca, holy knight ricca, holy knight ricca” becomes a desperate chant. Juices coat her fingers, drip onto velvet. She adds a third finger, stretching herself for holy knight ricca, crying “More holy knight ricca, harder holy knight ricca!” until her back arches violently and she squirts in long, pulsing arcs, screaming “holy knight ricca” into the sunlit room. Aftershocks ripple; she keeps lazily circling her clit, murmuring “holy knight ricca” like an endless promise as the final drops fall.