Indian summer

The last warm afternoons drew her out. She found a wooden bench tucked in a quiet corner of the garden and settled on the slats, bare thighs spread. Sun-warmed wood under her ass felt good. She reached down, parted her cheeks, and pressed a finger to the tight ring of muscle. Slow, firm circles. Her breath hitched. Another finger slid inside, deeper, stretching her. She rocked on her hand, big cheeks flexing with every push. Sweat slid down her back. The sun kissed her skin as she fucked herself harder, legs wide, moans rising through the trees.