Incongruous play

Morning sun pours across the green felt. She climbs onto the table, knees spread wide. A tiny red toy gleams between her fingers, slick already. Blonde hair tumbles over one shoulder as she pushes the curved head between slick folds. One smooth motion and the toy sinks deep, her breath catching. She holds it there, hips rocking, then draws it back and thrusts again, slow, deliberate. Her free hand finds her breast, pinching a taut nipple until the sting sharpens everything. The brunette across the room watches, fingers buried in her own heat, matching the rhythm stroke for stroke. Light slants over their bodies, catching on wet skin and glinting chrome edges. She rides the little toy harder, thighs flexing, until every breath comes ragged and the table beneath her creaks with the motion.