Porch pussy

The sun kisses her skin. She sinks into the porch chair, spreads her thighs, and lets her hand drift between them. Her pussy is already slick, lips soft and warm from the heat. Two fingers slide along her slit, part it, circle her clit with slow, deliberate strokes. She draws the wetness upward, teases the swollen bud until her hips roll on their own. Each breath comes shorter, sharper. Inside, her cunt tightens and pulses. She presses two fingers in, curls them, fucks herself with steady, greedy thrusts. Her thumb keeps working her clit, rubbing faster, harder. The chair creaks under her. Her free hand cups her breast, squeezes. Nipple stiffens between her fingers. She moans, low and raw. Muscles quiver. Heat builds deep in her belly, tightens, breaks. Her cunt clamps around her fingers, rhythm pulsing through her as she comes, hard and loud, sun spilling over her trembling thighs.