Eye-Candy

She comes into frame wearing pale underwear that barely counts as coverage. Nothing fancy, just the kind that disappears under a dress but turns up the heat when it stays on. Piaf moves like she knows she's being watched and doesn't mind one bit. The toy is already on the bed. She picks it up without hurry, like she's got all afternoon. Her thighs part and the lace stretches. When she presses the head between her legs the fabric gets darker. She grinds against it first, slow and heavy, hips rolling like she's testing how much friction she can stand. Pretty soon that's not enough. She hooks a finger under the crotch, tugs the lace aside. Skin meets silicone. She slides the length along her slit, wetting it, letting it catch and drag. Every time it bumps her clit her breath shortens. Then she pushes it in. Not all at once. She feeds it to herself in small strokes, watching the way her body opens and takes it. Her free hand cups her breast, thumb circling the nipple through the thin bra until it peaks. She pulls the cup down so she can pinch harder. The pace changes once she's full. Faster now. The dildo glistens each time it comes out. Her other hand stays busy—rubbing, pressing, keeping everything swollen and sensitive. Little sounds slip out of her, soft and unplanned. She chases them, tilts her hips, finds the angle that makes her thighs shake. When she comes her mouth opens but nothing much comes out except air. The toy stays buried while her muscles flutter around it. Aftershocks roll through her and she keeps the pressure on until they're spent. Then she lets everything go slack, legs loose, toy slipping free and resting against her thigh like it earned the rest too.