Under neon lights in “id tap that”, a tattooed goddess dances alone in lace lingerie. “id tap that” follows the sway of her hips as she peels the fabric away inch by inch. In “id tap that”, she bends over the bed, ass high, fingers sliding along slick folds from behind. The mirror reflects every thrust in “id tap that” while she watches herself, moaning at the sight. Faster, deeper—until “id tap that” captures her knees buckling, a sharp cry as she squirts across the sheets. “id tap that” leaves her collapsed, chest heaving, fingers still lazily circling through the aftershocks.