Sona's secret concerts are not just about the music, but a ritual of self-pleasure, a sacred act of worship to her own body. She loves the way the lute's wood feels against her skin, the vibration of the strings echoing within her. She leans back, her head resting against the wall, her eyes closed, her other hand pinching and rolling her nipples. Her fingers move faster, her breath hitching, her body tensing as she brings herself to the edge. She bites her lip, suppressing a moan, her orgasm washing over her like a wave, leaving her breathless and wanting more.