Pink pleasures

She stands in pink from head to toe. The top clings tight, sheer enough to show skin underneath. Stockings catch the light, smooth over her thighs, and her heels tap once on the floor. She lets her hand slide down the front of her top, fingers tracing the line where the fabric meets bare flesh. Her legs part just a little. Then she presses two fingers lower, rubbing the pink lace that hides nothing. She moves slow, hips rolling into her own touch. Each stroke grows firmer. The stockings rustle when her knees bend. She bites her lip, eyes half-closed, and keeps going. The pink keeps pulling the eye back to every wet detail.