Leggy Helena

Helena came in clutching the edge of her skirt, braces flashing whenever she smiled. She has filled out since then. The braces are gone, replaced by lipstick the color of a ripe cherry. Blonde hair spills down her back, framing the heavy curve of her tits beneath sheer black lace. She stands in front of the mirror, traces the line of her thigh with one fingertip, then slides the stocking higher until the strap bites into soft flesh. Every movement makes her breasts sway, nipples pressing hard against the cups. She turns, glances over her shoulder, and slowly lifts one leg onto a low stool. The motion pulls the garter taut across her ass. She runs her palm from ankle to hip, savoring the smooth heat of her own skin, before her fingers slip beneath the lace edge of her panties. A soft breath escapes her. She tugs the fabric aside just enough to show how wet she already is, then lets it snap back into place. Legs spread, knees bent, she rolls her hips in a slow circle, testing the tension in every strap and seam. Her free hand cups one breast, thumb flicking the nipple through the lace until a shiver runs down her spine. She sinks onto the edge of the bed, lifts both legs high, and crosses her ankles so the seams of her stockings catch the light. The camera lingers on the long line from heel to hip, then drops as she parts her knees wider, giving a clear view of the damp patch spreading across silk. Helena slides two fingers inside the panties again, this time deeper, working them in lazy strokes while her other hand keeps kneading her breast. Her breathing quickens. She bites her lower lip, eyes half-closed, lost in the rhythm she’s creating with nothing but her own hands and the whisper of lace against skin.