Romantic fairy

She steps into view like a fantasy made flesh. Blonde hair spills loose. The dress clings, thin enough to show skin beneath, the hem flirting with her thighs. She turns. The fabric pulls tight over the curve of her ass. She smiles, lazy, and lets the wand rest between her legs. Only it isn’t a wand. It’s thick, smooth, already slick. She parts her knees, presses the tip against herself, and pushes. A soft sound escapes her. Her free hand slides down to steady the toy while her hips roll forward, taking more. The dress rides higher. She leans back, legs spread wide, working the toy deeper with slow, greedy strokes. Her mouth opens. She watches the way it disappears inside her, then drags it out again, wet and shining, before she sinks it back in. Every thrust makes the fabric cling to her skin. She doesn’t rush. She enjoys the stretch, the slow grind, the pressure exactly where she wants it. When her fingers tighten on the base and her thighs start to tremble, she doesn’t look away. She keeps her eyes on the toy, on the way her body takes it, on the shine it leaves behind. The fairy fantasy ends here: on her back, legs open, fucking herself with steady purpose until the pleasure crests and she comes hard, dress twisted around her waist, toy buried deep.