Staircase confession

She climbs. One bare foot at a time, nothing on but skin and the afternoon light. Halfway up the stairs, she stops. Knees bent, thighs parted, her hand slips between them. A finger traces slow circles over her clit until the flesh swells and the lips part. Another finger joins it, sliding into the heat. She works them in and out, slow at first, then harder, knuckles disappearing. The steps dig into her ass, but she barely notices. Her other hand braces against the banister, knuckles white, while her breath comes in short bursts. Inside her, everything tightens, pulls, grips. Wet sounds rise with every thrust. She pushes deeper, chasing the clench that’s already rolling through her, thighs trembling around her wrist. She stays right there, riding it out on the stairs, fingers still moving as her pussy pulses and grips them hard.