Obsession

She sees herself and wants herself—now. That mirror reflection stops her cold. Perfect tits, full and heavy. She has to have them. Her hands cup and squeeze, thumbs rolling over hard nipples. She loves the weight of them in her palms. Fingers trace every curve, down her stomach, between her thighs. Each touch belongs to someone else, but it is hers alone. Two fingers slip inside, wet and eager. She watches the way her body answers. She needs more. Her hand finds the glass bottle and brings it down. The smooth neck nudges her open, then slides in deep. She drives it harder, faster, hips jerking to meet each thrust. The sound is slick and obscene. She chases the peak, eyes locked on her own body, until everything tightens and she comes, sharp and loud, the bottle still buried inside her.