Freckles

Anita sits back, freckles scattered across her face like scattered embers. Her full breasts rest heavy against her ribs, nipples already tight, and the rest of her follows—long legs, slim waist, that body made for attention. She watches herself. One hand glides up her thigh, the other cups a breast, squeezing until the flesh spills between her fingers. A soft sound slips out. She pinches a nipple, rolls it, then lets her hand wander lower, two fingers spreading the lips open so she can watch the slick shine gather. She likes the sight of it. Likes the way her middle finger sinks in first, then the second, moving slow at first, then deeper, knuckles flexing with each thrust. Her hips lift to meet her own hand. The freckles across her cheeks darken as color floods her face, mouth parted, breath quick. She adds a third finger, stretches herself wider, and grinds down hard, chasing the heat that builds low in her belly. When she comes, it’s with a sharp gasp and her back arched, fingers still moving until the last tremor fades.