Bare Bliss - Episode 7

She sits there, legs folded, pale skin glowing under the hotel lamp. Her fingers trace the line of her thigh, slow, deliberate, like she is testing the weight of her own desire. She parts them. The camera drinks in every inch: soft curls, the slick pink of her cunt, the way her lips glisten. She slides two fingers down, circles her clit, presses harder. A low sound slips from her throat. Her free hand cups one breast, rolls the nipple between thumb and finger, pulls it taut until it flushes dark. Her hips shift forward. She pushes two fingers inside, pulls them out wet, pushes again. Her breath catches. She curls them, finds that spot, works it with steady pressure until her legs tremble. The muscles in her stomach flutter. She spreads wider, fucks herself deeper, thumb still rubbing circles over her swollen clit. Her thighs tense. She comes with a sharp cry, cunt clenching around her fingers, slick running down her wrist. She keeps stroking through it, slower now, gentler, until the tremors ease and her breathing steadies. She lifts her hand, watches the shine on her skin, then licks her fingers clean, slow, savoring.