Sophie's Fantasy

Sophie can't sit still. The urge hits fast and she gives in right away, settling down in front of the lens to touch herself. Every curve begs for contact, and tonight her own fingers are all she has. She closes her eyes and pictures your hands gliding over her skin, tracing the same path her fingertips take. One hand slips lower, parts her, finds her slick. Slow circles build. Her breath catches. She presses harder, rocking against her palm, chasing the heat that tightens low in her belly. The fantasy sharpens. Your mouth at her throat, your voice telling her to let go. Her legs spread wider. She sinks two fingers deep, curls them, works them in steady strokes that match the pulse racing through her. Wet sounds fill the quiet. Her hips lift, chasing each thrust. Pleasure coils tight, then snaps. She comes hard, body arching, mouth open on a silent cry while her fingers keep moving through every last tremor.