Just for myself

What’s a better way to spend the afternoon than to lock every door and answer only to your own hands? That’s exactly what Aletta Ocean decided after a long day. She needed touch, but not from anyone else. She started slow, cupping her heavy tits through the thin top, thumbs circling her nipples until they stiffened. The fabric came off next. Her breasts spilled free, round and firm, the nipples already dark and aching. She rolled them between her fingers, tugged, let them spring back. Her breath grew shorter. She slipped one hand down, spread her thighs, and slid two fingers along her wet slit, parting the soft lips. She teased her clit in slow circles, then dipped inside, pulled out, and circled again. Every stroke made her wetter. She leaned back, legs wide, working her pussy with steady rhythm, squeezing her breast harder, rolling the nipple until the pleasure tightened low in her belly. When she came, her hips jerked and a low moan left her throat, and the room stayed quiet except for the wet sound of her fingers and her breathing.