Backstage of Taste of Sunshine

Colette stepped backstage after the sun soaked shoot, every inch of her skin still warm and tight from the light. The little blonde stripped off the last scrap of fabric and stood completely bare in the quiet room, nipples still hard from the breeze that had teased them all morning. She dropped onto the leather couch without a hint of shame and spread her knees wide, the motion smooth and unhurried. Her fingers slid straight between her puffy lips, already slick, and she traced slow circles over her swollen clit. Breath quickened. She pressed two fingers inside, curling them with a soft, wet sound that filled the room, hips lifting to meet every thrust. She watched her own hand work, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, the quiet backstage space suddenly thick with the scent of her. She pumped faster, thumb dragging over that sensitive nub, back arching until her small breasts pointed at the ceiling. A low whimper broke free, then another, sharper. Her thighs quivered, toes curled into the cushion. One last hard push and her whole body locked, pulsing around her fingers as a bright, helpless moan spilled from her throat. She stayed like that a moment, fingers buried deep, chest rising and falling, the corner of her mouth curved in a lazy, satisfied smile.