Teaching Blue Angel

Blue Angel stands there, naked and proud. She turns, showing off the slender lines of her body, the soft swell of her breasts, the curve where her back meets her ass. Every angle feels like a private invitation. She settles on the bed, legs falling open, fingers already tracing slow circles over her clit. The touch deepens. She slips one finger inside, then two, testing how wet she is, how ready. Her breath catches. Three fingers stretch her, four follow. She pauses, eyes half-closed, then pushes her whole hand forward. Her knuckles slide through. Her pussy opens around her wrist and she moans—quiet, then louder—as her fist fills her completely. She rocks her hand, knuckles dragging over that perfect spot inside, hips lifting to meet each thrust. Sweat beads on her stomach. Her free hand pinches a nipple, twisting, adding another bright note of pleasure. She doesn’t rush. Each slow pump draws a fresh sound from her throat, a fresh rush of wetness down her wrist. When she finally comes, her whole body locks tight around her buried fist, thighs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry. She stays like that for a long moment, breathing hard, savoring the fullness before she eases her hand free, glistening and spent.