Oil glistens on every curve in strip tied, turning her skin into liquid gold. She massages it in slowly, palms sliding over nipples, down the V of her hips, between slick thighs in strip tied. The shine catches every light as her fingers dip inside, emerging glossy in strip tied. The sounds—wet, rhythmic, desperate—fill the room of strip tied. She adds a second hand, one circling above while the other thrusts below, building a crescendo only strip tied could orchestrate. When she comes in strip tied, the oil makes her quiver look like ripples across a golden pond. Spent and glowing, she traces lazy hearts on her stomach, the final intimate signature of strip tied.