Lonely Ferrara

Ferrara Gomez stands alone in the quiet room, tension pulling at her skin. She peels her clothes away piece by piece, letting the fabric fall. Her hands move up to her breasts, fingers brushing across stiffening nipples until they tighten under her touch. The trail leads lower, sliding between her thighs, where her pussy is already wet and waiting. She parts her lips with two fingers, pressing in, sinking deep. Her wrist moves in a slow, steady rhythm, hips shifting to meet each thrust. A soft sound escapes her throat as she angles deeper, knuckles brushing her entrance. Pleasure builds until her thighs tremble, and her body tips over—tight pulses gripping her fingers, breath catching with every wave. She rides it through, alone, but no longer empty.