Adorable

They call her Miss Adorable behind her back, though the name feels too tame once you see her. Mary Jane stands there, slender and fair, her skin pale as cream. Blonde hair spills over her shoulders, framing a face that still looks almost innocent. She knows what the camera wants. She peels her clothes off slowly, letting each piece drop without hurry. When nothing remains, she lowers herself onto the couch, legs parting without shame. Her fingers drift between her thighs. First one, then two. She works them with steady rhythm, pressing deeper each time, the wet sound filling the quiet room. She pauses only to wet her fingers again, then returns to the same deliberate pace, hips lifting to meet her hand. Her breath catches. Her back arches. Every motion pulls her further into the heat she’s building, and she gives in to it without holding back.