The One and Only

Sandy needs nothing more than her own body for this. She stands there, already bare, the kind of blonde who keeps your eyes fixed on every slow move. One hand traces her breast, the other slides down, and she parts her legs with a lazy confidence. Fingers find the spot between her thighs and start to work—gentle at first, then steady, rubbing in firm circles until her breath catches. The wetness shows on her skin. She adds another finger, pushes deeper, hips rocking into her palm. The pace quickens. Soft, wet sounds fill the air. She moans, low and unashamed, the sound coming straight from her chest. Her free hand grips her thigh, holding herself open, and she fucks her own hand with purpose. Legs tense. Stomach tightens. She does not look away. The orgasm rolls through her in tight pulses, her fingers still moving until the shudders ease. She stays like that a moment longer, catching her breath, flushed and satisfied, the picture of a woman who knows exactly what she wants.