Hungry girl

She stands with the fridge door open, light spilling across her bare legs. Nothing inside calls to her. The ache she feels sits lower, deeper, the kind food can’t touch. She turns away, moves to the counter, and pulls a small glass toy from its drawer. Smooth. Cool. She wraps her fingers around it and brings it to her lips first, wetting it with her tongue. Then she sinks onto the edge of the bed, knees parting. The toy finds its place between them. She presses the rounded tip against her clit, circles once, twice, then slips it lower. It slides in easily—her body already wet and waiting. She works it slowly at first, savoring the stretch, the drag of glass against slick heat. Her free hand finds her breasts, squeezes, rolls a nipple between her fingers until it tightens. Blonde strands stick to her forehead as her breathing quickens. She fucks herself deeper, wrist twisting, glass catching the light with every thrust. Her thighs tremble. A soft sound escapes her—half breath, half moan. She doesn’t stop. The empty fridge can wait.