Gold Digger

Nataly’s chores are done. The house sits still around her. She stretches, already bored, then lets her hands wander where they please. A slow smile forms as she lies back on the bed, the soft light catching the clean line of her brunette hair across the pillow. Her fingers slip under the hem of her top, tracing circles that tighten with every pass. The fabric slides higher. Her nipples stiffen as she rolls them between thumb and forefinger, the tug sending heat straight between her legs. One knee bends, the other parts wider. She cups her breast, squeezes, then trails downward again, past her stomach, until she reaches the edge of her panties. Cotton clings, already damp. She rubs the soaked strip, pressing harder, breath catching each time her knuckle brushes her clit. She peels the panties aside, spreads herself with two fingers, and lets the cool air kiss the wet skin. Her middle finger circles, slow, deliberate, then pushes in with a soft sound. She moves it deeper, curls, pulls out slick and glossy. Her hips lift to meet each thrust. The room fills with the wet rhythm of her own touch. She keeps her eyes half-closed, lips parted, chasing the heat that builds and sharpens, letting the tension coil tighter until it finally breaks across her in a trembling rush.