My dreamland

She closes her eyes. In her mind she slips centuries back, into candle-lit halls and velvet beds. Her hand moves between her legs while the rest of her stays perfectly still. She pictures a young prince in silk breeches, eyes locked on her as if she were already his. Her fingers circle her clit, slow and sure, then dip inside where she’s slick and warm. She spreads her knees wider on the sheets, blonde hair spilling over bare shoulders, and works two fingers deeper, chasing the heat. A small gasp slips out. She rolls onto her stomach, ass lifted, and keeps stroking, faster now, the wet sound soft but steady. Her other hand cups a breast, pinching the nipple until it stands tight. She rocks against her palm, mouth open, chasing the edge. When the first wave hits she buries her face in the pillow and comes with a low, throaty moan, hips twitching, fingers still buried deep until every last pulse fades.