Vitamins for joy

She still peels them with care—same hands, same slow pace—only now the banana never reaches her mouth. Her fingers linger on the smooth curve, feeling the give beneath the skin. Naked already, she slides the tip between her lips first, lets it rest on her tongue, then trails it lower. The cool weight parts her folds, and she presses until the fruit sinks inside her, inch by careful inch. Her breath catches, comes back sharper. She draws it out and pushes again, hips tilting to meet each slow thrust. The second banana waits beside her, curved the same way. She takes it in her other hand, rubs the blunt tip over her clit until the skin glistens, then eases it inside as well, both hands working in a steady rhythm. Heat builds under her skin; she rocks harder, fucking herself with the fruit until the wet sound fills the room and her thighs start to shake.