Billiard table

Jessika had always pictured herself spread across a billiard table, skin on green felt, legs open wide. No one else showed up to make it happen, so she climbs up by herself. The cue light overhead throws soft shadows across her lingerie as she stretches out on her back. Her hand slips beneath the lace, fingers working fast. She drags them through wet heat, finds her clit and presses harder. Each breath pushes her chest up, nipples tight against thin fabric. The felt smells of chalk and old wood. Her hips start to rock. She slides two fingers inside, pulls them out slick, circles the swollen bud again. The room is quiet except for her breath and the soft sound of skin moving over silk. She spreads her knees wider, heels planted on the rails. Heat coils low in her belly, pulls tighter, breaks. Her whole body shudders once, sharp and sudden. She keeps stroking through the last pulses, eyes closed, mouth parted, until the tension slips away and leaves her loose on the table.