Dirty pictures

I snapped these shots of my own body in that grainy, one-handed style. Cheap lighting. Zero pretense. Just me, bare, and the camera catching everything it could reach. The pictures sat on my phone like torn-out pages from some back-alley magazine, and I couldn’t stop looking at them. My thighs looked thicker, my ass rounder, every curve catching the flash like it wanted attention. I stared at my own tits pushed together by the angle, nipples tight and pink, and felt my cunt answer with a slow, warm pulse. I touched myself right there, knees apart, screen still glowing. One finger slid between my lips, found how wet I already was, and started working in tight circles. I kept glancing back at the pictures—my spread cheeks, the little shadow between them, the way my hips tilted forward like an invitation. Every stroke pulled me deeper into the thought of strangers flipping through those photos, getting hard, getting off. My breath hitched. I pushed two fingers inside, fucking myself slow and steady while the phone balanced on my thigh. My free hand pinched one nipple, twisting just enough to make my back arch. The orgasm rolled through me hard, legs shaking, cunt squeezing around my fingers while I bit my lip to stay quiet. The photos stayed open the whole time.