Cintia's hot table dance

She slides up onto the table, bare legs spread wide across the dark grain. The cool wood presses right into her skin, each little stroke sharpening the heat between her thighs. Her sweet pussy throbs, wetter than the rest of her, aching for something firmer. Fingertips trace the edge of her lacy lingerie, then dip inside. One slow curl, another, and her breath catches. The harder she rubs, the slicker she gets, juices shining on her knuckles. The table creaks under her, steady and unyielding, while she rides her own fingers faster, chasing that deep, hungry clench that only something rigid can satisfy.