Perfect girl

Priscilla has the kind of face that stops you cold. Blonde hair, fresh skin, the sort of figure that looks like it was made to be stared at. She knows it too. One slow look and she’s already wet, knees apart, fingers slipping between her legs. She teases herself with lazy circles until the need sharpens and she presses harder, breath catching. Every stroke is slow at first, then quicker, until she’s biting her lip and chasing the rush. Her body tenses, hips lift, and she comes with a soft, broken sound that leaves her flushed and smiling.