Turn up the volume

She flips the switch and the record spins to life. Kittie stands over the turntable, already dressed for the mood in nothing but soft light and smooth skin. Her blonde hair falls across one shoulder as she searches the shelf, thumb sliding along vinyl spines. She finds the one that gets her blood moving. The needle drops. Bass rolls through the floorboards. She closes her eyes, sways once, then leans back against the console. One hand drifts down her stomach, slow and sure. Her other palm rests on the edge of the table while her fingers slip between her thighs. The volume climbs. So does she. Each stroke matches the beat—gentle at first, then firmer, wetter. Her breath turns shallow. She bites her lip, lets out a soft, hungry sound that rides the music. The record keeps turning. So does she, hips rocking to her own rhythm, chasing the drop that will finally push her over.