Femme Fit - Episode 7

She pressed her palms to the hardwood and arched her spine like a cat in heat. The camera circled, catching every angle as the silk robe slid down one shoulder, then the other, until it hung from the bend of her elbows. Beneath it, nothing. Sweat had already started at the small of her back, tracing the dip where her ass met her thighs. She exhaled. Slow. The sound was wet, open. Her nipples were tight, flushed, and she rolled her shoulders to make them move. The crew stayed silent behind the lights, lenses drinking her in. She turned, legs spread shoulder-width, and slid two fingers between her folds. They came away shiny. She lifted them to her mouth, licked them clean with the tip of her tongue, then pushed both digits back inside with a soft, filthy sound. Her hips rocked once, twice. She bit her lower lip and moaned, low and throaty, letting the camera catch the moment her eyes fluttered shut. The robe slipped completely. It pooled at her feet. She sank lower, knees bending, until she was crouched, thighs spread wide, still fingering herself in measured strokes. Her other hand rose to cup her breast, thumb dragging across the stiff peak. A single bead of sweat rolled down her sternum and disappeared between her legs. She added a third finger. The stretch pulled another sound from her throat, higher this time. Her wrist flexed, working deeper, the wet noises growing louder. She leaned forward until her forehead touched the floor, ass lifted, offering everything to the lens. Her fingers never stopped moving.