Country chick

She steps out into the yard in nothing but a thin cotton top and the kind of denim that hugs like a second skin. Sun catches the straw-gold hair that tumbles past her shoulders, and the breeze lifts the hem enough to show the plump curve of her ass. Tits strain the fabric, full and heavy, nipples already tight from the cool air and her own quickening pulse. She’s young, eager, and alone, so she spreads a blanket over a hay bale and sits back, knees wide. One hand slips under the waistband, fingers finding slick heat between her thighs. A soft moan escapes her as she strokes, lazy at first, then faster, chasing the throb that’s taken over. When two fingers aren’t enough, she reaches for the empty bottle lying nearby, smooth glass still warm from the sun. She presses the neck between her folds, circling her clit with the rounded lip until it glistens, then pushes inside, slow and steady, filling herself. The stretch makes her arch, breasts bouncing with every thrust of her wrist. She fucks herself deeper, hips rolling, ass cheeks flexing against the blanket. Wet sounds mix with her breathy gasps as she pumps harder, chasing the heat that coils tighter and tighter until it snaps, leaving her trembling, the bottle slick in her grip, the country air heavy with the scent of her satisfaction.