Jewel

Cleopatra steps out of her robe and stands there bare. Light slides over the curve of her breasts, the narrow waist, the long legs she plants apart. Between them, only the glint of polished steel shows: a smooth, cold shaft seated deep inside her. She breathes in, and the hidden weight shifts, pressing where she likes it best. Her fingers drift down. She finds the base of the metal and gives it the smallest twist. Pleasure flares warm in her belly. She moves the toy slowly, pulling it out until just the rounded head stays nestled in her, then sliding it back until her thighs tremble. Every few strokes she pauses, savoring how the firm length stretches her open and leaves her slick around the intrusion. She sinks onto the edge of the bed, one heel braced on the frame, the other planted on the floor. Knees wide, she watches her own hand at work—the pale wrist, the flash of metal disappearing again between swollen lips. Her breath shortens. She pushes deeper, faster, chasing the throb that starts low and gathers tight behind her clit. When the first wave hits, she arches hard, hips jerking, the toy buried to its flared base while she rides it through every spasm. The second wave follows close; she keeps pumping until she’s shaking and laughing quietly at how good it feels. Only then does she ease the steel free, let it rest against her thigh, slick and warm from her.