Meow

Dorothy wears lace. Nothing else. She sits on the edge of the bed, legs open, and the black lace already clings where she’s wet. Her fingers slide under the thin strip, push it aside, find her clit. She strokes slow, then faster, then back again, teasing herself until her hips twitch. She reaches for the toy beside her. Small, black, slick. She brings it to her mouth first, coats it, then lowers it between her cheeks. The first push makes her gasp. The second sinks the toy deeper. Dorothy keeps working her clit with one hand while the other drives the plug in and out of her ass. She moans each time it fills her, every thrust harder than the last. Her knees spread wider. The lace slips off one shoulder. She doesn’t fix it. She only rides her own hand and the toy until her breath breaks and her thighs shake. When it’s done she leaves the toy buried and pets herself a little longer, still hungry.