Oil glistens on every curve in position la levrette, 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 position la levrette. The shine catches every light as her fingers dip inside, emerging glossy in position la levrette. The sounds—wet, rhythmic, desperate—fill the room of position la levrette. She adds a second hand, one circling above while the other thrusts below, building a crescendo only position la levrette could orchestrate. When she comes in position la levrette, 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 position la levrette.