Extraordinary

The lace clings where it matters. Thin straps dig into soft skin and frame what needs framing. She runs her fingers over the edge, slow, like she wants you to watch. The fabric barely covers her breasts. Full, heavy, pale beneath black lace. Her nipples press through like they want out. She shifts her hips and the hem rides up, flashing the line of her stomach, the dip between her thighs. Her hand drifts lower. She parts her legs just enough, then stops, teasing the moment out. Every motion says she knows what she’s doing. The lingerie looks expensive because it is, and it looks filthy because that’s how she wears it. She cups one breast, squeezes, feels the weight, then slips her fingers beneath the lace. A quiet breath escapes her as she plays with herself, slow at first, then not so slow. Blonde hair spills over her shoulders, catching the light, soft and bright against the dark straps. She slides one hand between her legs, pressing the thin fabric against her cunt, rubbing through it, leaving it damp. She moans, low and sweet, like the sound belongs to someone older, someone who learned early how to make it last. Her other hand stays busy, pinching a nipple until it stings, then soothing it with her palm. The room smells like her perfume and the heat coming off her skin. She spreads wider, pushing the lingerie aside, letting her fingers slip inside where it’s wettest. Every stroke is deliberate. She watches herself do it, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, taking her time because she can. Because she likes the way it looks. Because she knows you’re watching too.