In the dim glow of a bedside lamp, the pony strip begins with whispered words only she can hear. She’s wearing nothing but lace panties, and the pony strip adores how she peels them away inch by inch. Her skin flushes rose as her own touch ignites her in the pony strip. Every circle of her fingers over that sensitive bundle feels sacred in the pony strip. She rides the edge for what feels like forever in the pony strip, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. When she finally lets go in the pony strip, her entire body shudders in waves that the lens of the pony strip captures perfectly. The afterglow in the pony strip is almost more erotic than the act itself—soft smiles, lazy stretches, the quiet satisfaction of a woman who knows exactly how powerful she is. the pony strip is pure feminine bliss.