Bar bunny

She waits, every nerve alive, already missing his mouth and the way those strong hands would pin her and roam her skin for hours. Thoughts of their next night twist tighter and hotter inside her, until she can’t keep her own fingers still. In nothing but sheer lingerie, the young blonde spreads out on the bar stool and lets one hand slip beneath the lace. Her touch starts slow, teasing circles that pull soft sighs from her throat. She arches, tilts her hips forward, and presses harder, chasing the slick heat between her thighs. Breath quickens. Her free hand squeezes a breast, rolling the nipple through thin fabric. The need builds fast. Legs open wider. She works two fingers deeper, knuckles glistening, pumping in steady rhythm while her thumb rubs tight, wet circles over her swollen clit. Every stroke draws a quiet moan; the bar top is cool against her skin, but inside she burns. She bites her lip, rocks faster, lost in the wet sounds and the sweet ache that tightens and blooms. Closer. Tighter. Her thighs shake. The climax hits hard and sweet, leaving her trembling and slick, still stroking through the aftershocks until the hunger eases just enough to leave her glowing and ready for more.