String fan

I’m a g-string fan. It makes my ass look edible. The tiny strip of fabric slides between my cheeks, warm and snug, and every step makes it move just enough to wake everything up. I put it on after classes, feeling how the silk hugs me. Hours later the heat builds low in my back. By the time I lock my door I’m already wet. I peel my skirt down, leave the thong on, lie back, and press two fingers to the damp triangle. The fabric is soaked through in seconds. I rub slow circles, then faster, chasing that tight throb. My tits strain against my thin top and I pull it up, squeeze them hard. One finger slips under the string and finds my clit. I come quick and hard, the little panties stretched tight against me, twitching with each pulse.