Midsummer's fairie

She steps onto a bed of moss, night air clinging to her skin. The blonde is small, young, alone. She peels off her dress, the cotton catching for one second at her hip before it drops. Nothing on beneath. Her nipples are stiff already. She cups one breast, thumb rolling over the tight peak, then slides her other hand down to part the soft, light hair between her thighs. Two fingers slip in, easy, wet. Her knees spread wider. She lies back, knees bent, hips lifting to meet each slow thrust of her own hand. The pleasure builds fast. She breathes through parted lips, jaw slack, eyes half-closed. When she comes, her belly tightens and her fingers stay buried deep, pulsing with each wave. She smiles, lazy, pleased with herself.