Mirror miracle

The mirror catches me every time. I stand there, staring at the reflection, and soon my hands follow the eyes. They slide over the curve of my tits, heavy and full, cupping each one before fingertips drag across my nipples. I keep watching. One palm drifts lower, tracing the soft skin of my stomach until it reaches between my legs. I spread my thighs a little, give myself room, and stroke the slick heat waiting there. My fingers move slowly at first, learning the shape of me again, then firmer, circling my clit while I bite my lower lip. The blonde in the glass does the same, breath quickening, cheeks flushed. I push two fingers inside, slow and deep, then pull them out wet. My other hand stays on my breast, squeezing, tugging at the stiff peak. The pleasure builds fast. I rock my hips against my own hand, eyes locked on the image of myself spread open and wanting, chasing the sharp, wet rush until my thighs shake and I have to lean forward, forehead against cool glass, fingers still buried and twitching.