Backstage of Evening dress-up

She stands in that little black dress like it was made for this moment. Fishnet stockings cling tight to her legs, every diamond-shaped opening teasing what's beneath. Sophie Paris looks back at you, a slow smile curling her lips. She knows exactly what you're here for. Ready or not, she's already sliding a hand beneath the hem of that dress, fingers tracing the lace edge of her panties. Her body sways as she touches herself, breath catching soft in her throat. The dress rides higher with each stroke, silk against skin. She turns, bends forward, and the sight of her ass framed by fishnet and lace makes it hard to think straight. One hand stays busy between her legs while the other reaches back, parting herself for you to see. Two fingers disappear into the heat of her, and she doesn't hold back her moan. The rhythm builds. She fucks herself with purpose, the dress bunched at her waist now, black fabric against pale skin. Her legs spread wider in those stockings. Every thrust of her fingers comes with a wet sound that fills the quiet space. Sophie doesn't rush. She wants you to watch. Wants you to see the way her body opens, the way she takes it deeper, the way her thighs tremble when she hits the spot that makes her gasp. Her free hand grips the edge of the table for balance, knuckles white. The fishnets stretch with every movement. She rocks back against her own hand, chasing that edge, and the little black dress has become nothing more than a frame for the show she's putting on.