Little black dress

Every girl needs a little black dress she can wear anywhere. That’s what my mother always said. I stand in front of the mirror, running my hands down the thin fabric, feeling how the silk clings tight. The sheer lace at the bodice presses against my bare breasts, and my nipples push through it, hard and obvious. I turn, watching the hem ride up my thighs. One strap slides off my shoulder. I let it fall. My fingers brush the swell of my breast, tracing the outline of my nipple through the lace, then pinching it. A sharp breath slips out. I lift the hem higher, sliding my other hand beneath. No panties tonight. Just skin. My fingers find the soft heat between my thighs. I press two fingers along my slit, feeling how wet I already am. The dress stays on, bunched at my waist, as I lean back against the bed. Legs spread, I rub slow circles over my clit, eyes on the mirror, watching my own hand move. My blonde hair falls across one eye. I bite my lip, breath catching, pushing two fingers inside. The little black dress stays on while I fuck myself, slow and steady, until my thighs shake.