Sugar candy

Kandi is the kind of girl you stare at until your chest tightens. Petite, blonde, skin tight as drum skin, and a face too sweet for what she’s doing. She’s spread open on a clean white bed, no clothes, no shame. Her thighs part slowly, knees falling outward, and she touches herself like she’s the only person left on earth. Fingertips trace the soft rise of her mound, then dip lower, sliding between slick folds with lazy, confident strokes. Every now and then her hips lift off the sheet, chasing the pressure. Her other hand cups one small breast, thumb brushing the stiff nipple, and a tiny shiver runs through her. She breathes through parted lips, eyes half-closed, lost in the steady rhythm she’s building. When her fingers sink in, the breath catches, but she doesn’t stop. She just rocks against her hand, slow, greedy, taking every bit of pleasure she’s earned.