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A lone figure, her face obscured, sits at a pong table, her legs hooked over the sides. She's wearing nothing but a smile and a pair of thigh-high socks. She teases her urethra, rubbing it gently, her hips bucking slightly. She lets out a soft sigh, and a trickle of piss starts to flow, soaking into the green felt. She leans forward, her tongue flicking out to taste her own essence, her fingers working her clit, lost in a world of her own making, her body writhing in pleasure as she continues to piss, her fluids mingling with the remnants of forgotten games.