Solitary solitaire

Evening solitude meets her own rules. Cards spread across the table, but her mind keeps drifting to hands that aren’t hers. The thoughts slip under her skirt, and before long her fingers are inside her panties, working the thin cotton deeper until the fabric disappears between soaked folds. Each slow push widens her, the material stretching, damp and warm, as she rocks her hips against the intrusion. She pauses just long enough to ease another finger in, then another, stuffing herself fuller, the silky bulge pressing against her clit every time she clenches. Soft, wet sounds rise with every thrust. Her breath grows short. The cards stay forgotten while she rides the tight, stretched fullness until the climax tightens and breaks over her in one long, pulsing rush.