Bad Santa

Santa sits back on the couch, boots kicked off and legs apart. She slides two fingers between her thighs, pressing them hard against her clit, the thin red skirt bunched high on her waist. Her breath comes fast and shallow while she rolls her hips, chasing each slow, sticky circle. She pushes two fingers inside, knuckle-deep, then drags them out again, shiny with her own wetness. The fur-trimmed jacket slips off one shoulder, nipples stiff under the low-cut neckline. She bites her lip and keeps going, faster now, thighs trembling, fucking herself with steady, greedy thrusts until her back arches and a sharp cry breaks loose.