Purr

She lies back and lets her hands roam. Kittie. Young, blonde, already half-undressed in sheer lingerie that barely clings to her body. Her fingers trace the lace first, then slip beneath it to cup her small breasts. She pinches one nipple, slow and careful, and the sound that leaves her throat is pure satisfaction—soft, throaty, a cat’s contented purr. The other nipple gets the same treatment. She rolls both between her fingers now, eyes half-closed, hips shifting against nothing. The lingerie rides up. Her thighs part. She keeps teasing herself, light flicks turning into firmer pulls, the purr growing louder each time. She never rushes. She just strokes and pinches and listens to her own pleasure.