Kinky Fantasies

Cipriana picks the filthiest stall in the place for her show. Broken tiles, cracked porcelain. And her, short red hair catching what little light there is. She leans back against the door, knees spread, fingers already working slow circles over her pussy. Her lips part. The sound is wet and close, echoing off the bare walls. She watches herself as much as you do, hips tilting to meet each stroke. Every breath gets shorter. The old seat creaks when she shifts, but she never stops rubbing. She presses two fingers in, curls them, pulls them out glistening. Then she brings them to her mouth, tastes herself, smiles like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. She keeps going, legs trembling now, chasing that edge in a room meant for anything but this. Short hair sticking to her damp temples, red strands dark at the roots. She doesn’t rush. She drags it out until her thighs shake and her free hand grips the broken handle for balance. When she finally comes, it’s quiet but sharp, a soft curse caught between her teeth, fingers buried deep while her body tightens around them.