Rouge

Cleopatra stands before the mirror in a fire-red catsuit that clings to every curve. The lycra stretches tight across her chest, her nipples pressing plainly through the thin fabric, and rides high between the smooth cheeks of her ass. She runs her hands over her stomach, down the sides of her hips, feeling how the suit molds to her like a second skin. A slow smile curves her lips. She slips one strap off her shoulder, then the other, peeling the top down until her bare breasts tumble free, pale and full. Her thumbs brush over her nipples until they stiffen into tight peaks. Lower, she cups herself through the red fabric, the heat of her pussy radiating against her palm. She presses two fingers in a slow circle, breath catching as the pressure builds. The suit stays on, stretched and shiny, while she rubs harder, hips rolling against her own touch. Her free hand slides up to squeeze her breast again, pinching the nipple as her thighs tremble. She keeps going, faster now, biting her lip, until her body shudders and she sinks forward, catching herself on the edge of the vanity.