Kate C
Nasty Nurses
A bird flutters on her ankle, a twist of wings and colour. Her fingers slide down her calf, nails barely grazing the ink. The lift of her knee widens her thighs and the bird flexes with every breath she draws. She slips one hand between her legs, finds wet heat, and begins to circle. The movement pulls the skin tight over the small tattoo, every stroke making it rise and fall as if the creature is breathing too. She presses two fingers inside, spreads them, listens to the soft sound of her own need. Her heel drags up the sheet. The bird stretches. She comes hard, quiet, hips tilting so the ink never stills.
A bird flutters on her ankle, a twist of wings and colour. Her fingers slide down her calf, nails barely grazing the ink. The lift of her knee widens her thighs and the bird flexes with every breath she draws. She slips one hand between her legs, finds wet heat, and begins to circle. The movement pulls the skin tight over the small tattoo, every stroke making it rise and fall as if the creature is breathing too. She presses two fingers inside, spreads them, listens to the soft sound of her own need. Her heel drags up the sheet. The bird stretches. She comes hard, quiet, hips tilting so the ink never stills.