Haute couture

She steps into the room wearing couture that fits like a second skin. Silk and lace hug every curve. The dress clings to her big tits and falls away from her long legs with each slow turn. Her fingers trace the neckline. She likes the feel of expensive fabric against her skin, yet she wants it gone. One by one, she undoes the fastenings. The straps slide off her shoulders. Fabric pools at her feet, leaving nothing but bare skin and the thin strip of her panties. She watches herself in the mirror. Blonde hair falls over one eye as she runs her hands over her breasts, feeling their weight. Her thumbs circle the nipples until they stiffen. A soft breath escapes her lips. She moves to the bed and stretches out. Her legs part. One hand slips between them, pressing against the damp silk. She pushes the fabric aside and finds herself slick, ready. Two fingers part her folds and press inside with a quiet, wet sound. Her free hand stays on her chest, squeezing and rolling. She rocks her hips to meet each thrust of her fingers. The pace builds. Every stroke pulls a sharper moan from her throat. Her thighs tremble. Her back arches off the sheets. She keeps going until the pleasure crests and crashes through her, leaving her breathless and spent on the designer sheets.