Lingerie lady

Michelle stands in front of the full-length mirror, admiring the way the black lace hugs her skin. Tiny rosebuds climb the cups and cling to her hips. She runs her fingers over the stitching, then moves to the bed and eases the straps off her shoulders. Her breasts slip free, nipples already tight. She cups them, squeezing softly before sliding a hand between her thighs. The thong slides down next, leaving her bare except for the stockings and heels. She spreads her legs, rests two fingers on her clit, and begins a slow, steady rub. Soon the fingers dip lower, sink inside her, and she curls them just right. Her breath shortens. She pumps deeper, faster, the wet sound growing louder each time her knuckles press against her. The heel of one shoe digs into the sheet. She keeps her eyes on her own reflection, watching every thrust, every tremor, until her thighs tighten and her mouth falls open in a silent cry.