Hidden Passion and Desire in self bondae

Spotlights illuminate only her in self bondae. Completely naked on a velvet pedestal, she becomes the exhibit. Slow strokes over hard nipples, down flat stomach, to slick folds. “They all want self bondae,” she purrs to the empty room, sliding three fingers inside while the fourth circles her clit. Security cameras record every moan of “self bondae… look at self bondae… worship self bondae.” Her hips roll like brushstrokes, faster, wetter, louder, until the masterpiece finishes—she squirts across the marble floor in shining ropes, screaming “self bondae!” as the gallery echoes with her name again and again.