Miss Boobs

She walks like she already knows you’re staring. That chest of hers leads the way, full and heavy, the kind of sight that makes men slow down on a crowded street. Now the camera’s on her and she doesn’t bother with small talk. She peels off her top and lets the weight of those breasts settle into plain view, pale skin stretched tight over curves that swing softly when she moves. Her nipples tighten under the lights. One hand lifts the left breast, testing its heft, thumb brushing the stiff peak before she gives it a slow squeeze. She sinks onto the edge of the bed, legs parted, skirt pushed high. The fingers of her free hand slide down between her thighs. She strokes herself in time with the lazy bounce of her chest, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. Every breath makes the flesh ripple. She cups both breasts now, lifts them together, runs her tongue across each nipple in turn, then drops one hand back to her open cunt. She works herself harder, hips rolling, the slap of skin meeting skin filling the quiet room. Her pace picks up. She leans back, legs wider, and keeps her eyes on the lens while she rubs tight circles over her clit, breasts rising and falling faster until her mouth falls open on a sharp moan and the first wave of pleasure hits.