Miss Horny

They used to call me Miss Horny back in high school, and it stuck for a reason. I needed it every day—couldn't go without. The moment the rumors got out that I kept a fucking machine in my bedroom, the name sealed itself. Now eighteen, I'm the blonde everyone still whispers about, tits round and heavy, nipples already tight before I even switch the thing on. I strip slow, letting the weight of my breasts fall free, then climb onto the bed and line the thick head between my lips. The motor hums low, steady, and I sink down until I'm full. My hips roll, taking every thrust, wet sounds filling the quiet room as the brunette I invited over watches from the doorway, touching herself while she waits her turn.