Busty teen

Aletta sits back in nothing but sheer black lace, the kind that clings like a second skin. She cups her own tits, heavy and round, lifting them as if offering them to an unseen viewer. Her thumbs drag slow circles around the stiff nipples, pressing down until they spring back, taut and pink. She parts her thighs wider, letting the thin strip of fabric barely covering her pussy stretch tight. A single finger slips inside that strip, traces the slick seam beneath, then pulls it aside so she can watch herself. She’s dripping already, the sheen catching the light when she spreads her lips and drags the flat of her fingers through the mess. Her breathing quickens. She lifts those wet fingers to her mouth, tastes herself with a slow, deliberate lick, then drops her hand straight back between her legs. Two fingers sink in knuckle-deep while her free hand keeps kneading her breast, squeezing hard enough that pale flesh spills between her fingers. The rhythm builds, steady, unhurried, hips rocking up to meet every thrust. When the first tremor hits she doesn’t stop, just pushes harder, chasing it until her thighs shake and a flush creeps up her chest. Her lips part on a soft, broken sound, blonde hair sticking to her damp cheek as she rides the last aftershocks, still stroking herself through them.