Looking sexy in black

She steps into frame wearing black lingerie and stockings, a brunette with a full, heavy chest. Her fingers trace the edges first. Then they press. The lace gives under her touch. She rolls her hips once, slow, then peels the bra down to let her breasts spill free. No hurry. She cups them, thumbs circling until the nipples stand dark and tight. Stockings stay on. She hooks the panties and slides them aside instead of off, just enough to bare the soft pink between her thighs. Two fingers part the lips. She watches herself in a mirror she knows you’re behind, eyes heavy, mouth open. When the first wet sound reaches her ears she smiles—small, wicked—and pushes deeper. Her other hand keeps roaming: over the curve of one breast, down the flat of her stomach, back up to tug a nipple. Every stroke between her legs grows firmer, wetter. She rocks against her own fingers, breath catching, stockings whispering against skin. She doesn’t rush the finish. She lets it build until her thighs tremble and her wrist glistens, then drags it out—one last, deliberate circle that leaves her shaking and spent against the sheets.