Mira's Grace

Mira takes her time. She peels the top away and her breasts spill free, pale and full, nipples already tight. The skirt drops next. No hurry. She steps out of it, bare now except the faint flush across her chest. Her fingers trail lower, brushing the soft mound, parting the lips so the wetness gleams. One fingertip circles her clit, slow, deliberate. She shifts, lifts one knee onto the couch, and the movement opens her further. The tight ring between her cheeks flexes as she drags two fingers back, spreading the slick there too. Her breathing deepens. She sinks onto the cushions, legs wider, and lets both hands work—one teasing her swollen clit, the other pressing, testing the snug heat of her ass. Every stroke is unhurried, every sound she makes low and honest. She knows exactly what she’s showing, and she gives it all.