Tamed

Bambi slips into view and your eye takes the measure fast: delicate frame, that same wide-eyed stare the forest deer had. She moves through soft light in lace that barely covers anything, lets the straps slide off one shoulder, then the other. Her hand finds the warmth between her legs and starts slow, the rhythm steady, hips rolling with every stroke. The lingerie clings, sheer where it should be. She peels it lower until only the garter straps frame pale skin. Every sigh comes sharper when her fingers press just right. She keeps the pace light, then firmer, chasing the climb until her breath catches and her thighs tremble. When the wave breaks she stays open for a second, flushed, still touching, letting the last pulses fade under her fingertips.