Caught in the net

The fishnets hug every curve she owns. One glance and she knows the night is hers. She turns slow, lets the pattern stretch across her ass, and the blonde hair spills over one shoulder. The lingerie is see-through by design; nothing left to wonder about. When she drops to her knees the mesh scrapes soft against his thighs, and her mouth takes him deep, wet, hungry. She works him with steady rhythm, eyes flicking up like she’s measuring how much more he can take. He bends her over the edge of the couch, spreads the netting wider, and pushes into her ass—slow at first, then harder, each thrust met with a low sound that slips past her parted lips. The room fills with the slap of skin and the rasp of nylon. She pushes back, takes him to the hilt, breath catching every time he bottoms out. The fishnets stay on the whole time, a reminder of what started it. When he finally lets go she stays right where she is, trembling, still wearing the net like a second skin.