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