All alone

Zoe has that body that stops traffic. Long legs, narrow waist, and breasts that look bigger than her frame. She stands in front of the mirror, towel still damp, nipples tight from the chill. No one else is home. Her fingers trail down her stomach, but the touch only makes her wetter. She opens the nightstand drawer, pulls out the thick silicone toy she’s had for years, and runs her tongue along its head like greeting an old friend. Then she climbs onto the bed, spreads her knees, and pushes the blunt tip against her slick entrance. She takes it slow at first, watching the way her pussy swallows the shaft inch by inch, until her hand meets her swollen lips. Every thrust knocks a breathy sound out of her, and soon the room fills with the wet slap of silicone against skin. Her free hand cups one breast, thumb flicking the hard nipple, while her hips lift off the mattress to meet each stroke. When the orgasm finally hits, her thighs quiver and her cries echo down the empty hallway. The toy stays buried inside her, pulsing in time with the aftershocks, keeping her full until the need passes.