White Angel's solo flight

White Angel clears her afternoon. Alone in the room, she lets her robe slip, baring the firm tits and round ass she keeps tight through daily work. Fingers trail down her stomach, part her lips, find the swollen clit already throbbing. She circles it slow, then quickens, hips lifting off the bed as wet heat spreads. Rolling onto her side, she grips one cheek, spreading herself for deeper pressure. A soft moan escapes; another follows, louder. Her breathing turns ragged. She presses two fingers inside, thumb never leaving that slick bundle of nerves. The rhythm tightens. Her stomach flutters. A sharp cry breaks free as the climax hits, thighs shaking, fingers drenched, every inch of her spent and glistening.