Polka dots

She picks the polka-dot top for a reason. Little white dots scattered over black silk, tight enough to show she skipped the bra. Wivien turns once, lets the hem ride up, then peels it off in one slow pull. Her nipples stand tight from the sudden air. Nothing left but the matching thong, a thin strip of cotton riding high on her hips. She slides a hand between her thighs, presses two fingers to the fabric, and rubs until the material darkens. Hips roll in small, greedy circles. When the thong is soaked she hooks a finger inside it, drags it aside, and shows the slick folds beneath. Two fingers sink in knuckle-deep. Her breath catches, quickens. She keeps the rhythm steady—long, even strokes, thumb brushing her clit each time her hand bottoms out. The blonde hair spills across her shoulders as her head tilts back. Legs spread wider on the sheets. Wet sounds grow louder, her free hand pinching a nipple hard enough to sting. She rides her own fingers until the tension breaks, thighs shaking, a soft cry caught between parted lips. When she pulls the fingers free, they glisten. She licks one clean, slow, eyes half-closed, savoring the taste.