Franciska's lure

Franciska sprawls across the sheets, her pale blonde hair spread like silk. The smooth curve of her hip catches the light as she runs her fingers down her stomach. She’s young, and every inch of her shows it—tight skin, small breasts, and a soft patch of hair between her thighs. She doesn’t rush. She slides her hand lower, parts her legs, and presses her fingers against her slit. The wetness is already there. She brings the red toy to her mouth, licks it once, then pushes it inside, slow and steady. Her lips part. Her knees open wider. With each slow thrust she watches the toy disappear, then reappear, coated and shining. The rhythm builds. Her free hand squeezes one breast, thumb flicking the nipple. She breathes harder, hips lifting, chasing the heat that runs through her. The room is quiet except for the wet sound of the dildo working deeper. She keeps going until her thighs shake and her breath catches, eyes half-closed, mouth open. When she comes she stays still for a moment, toy buried to the hilt, then pulls it out with a small, satisfied sound.