Open Sesame

I step up to the threshold and say the words. The latch clicks. My palm slides between my thighs, spreading heat already pulsing there. I sit on the edge of the bed, legs parted, skirt bunched at my hips, and let two fingers stroke slow circles over slick lips. Each pass opens me wider, wetter, until the air smells like pure need. I lean back, blond hair spilling across the pillows, and lift one knee so the view is deeper. My free hand squeezes the soft curve of my ass, pulling it aside as the first finger sinks inside with a soft, wet sound. I add another, curling them until my breath catches. My hips start rolling, chasing every slow thrust. The second hand drifts up to pinch a nipple through thin cotton; I gasp, arch, and the room fills with the steady rhythm of skin on skin. My ass quivers each time I push deeper, every muscle tightening, releasing, tightening again. A flush spreads across my chest. My thighs shake, and I press harder, thumb sliding over the swollen nub above my fingers. The slick sound grows louder, quicker, until the pleasure crests and crashes, leaving me trembling, open, spent, but still moving my fingers lazily, savoring every last pulse.