Girls of MetArt - Episode 5

She pushes the door open and walks in naked. Her nipples harden the moment the cool air touches them. She walks to the window, barefoot, hips swaying like she knows someone is watching. The sunlight paints gold across her stomach and the soft curve between her thighs. She stops. Spreads her legs just enough. Then she runs two fingers down the front of her slit, parting herself in one slow stroke. The sound is wet, deliberate. She brings her fingers up, studies the shine on them, and smiles. A small sound escapes her when she slips them back inside. Her other hand finds her breast. She pinches the nipple, rolls it, pulls until it stings. The pain sharpens everything. She fucks herself with two fingers now, knuckles glistening, wrist working in tight circles. Every few strokes she pulls out completely, drags the wetness over her clit, then sinks back in like she’s punishing herself for slowing down. Her breathing changes. She bends her knees, rides her own hand, thighs trembling. When she comes her mouth falls open but no sound comes out at first. Then it does—low, broken, dragged from somewhere deeper than her throat. Her fingers stay buried while her cunt pulses around them, milking the last ripples. She stays there, forehead against the glass, until her legs stop shaking. Only then does she pull her fingers free, wipe them across her belly, and watch the city move below like nothing just happened.