Nicki Hunter

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She walks in as Nikki Hunter. She takes the name like a second skin. One strap off the shoulder, then the other. The dress drops. Nothing underneath. Her tits ride high and full, nipples already tight from the cool air. Nikki cups them both, thumbs dragging across each peak until they sting. She spreads her legs and plants her heels, then lets two fingers slide down her belly and between her lips. The wet sound fills the room. She works her clit in slow circles, eyes half-lidded, breath coming harder now. A third finger slips inside. She fucks herself slow and deep, hips rolling to meet her own hand, the slick coating her knuckles. She bites her lower lip and smiles when the first tremor hits. Then she drops to her knees, palms flat on the floor, ass lifted. She reaches back and spreads herself open, showing everything—pink, swollen, glistening. Two fingers push back in from behind and she rocks against them, the rhythm steady and obscene. She stays like that until her thighs shake and a soft, broken moan escapes her throat.

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