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She came to me on the tenth of October, her dress already half-unbuttoned, nipples pressing hard against silk. The fabric whispered down her hips, revealing soft skin and the dark triangle between her thighs. She lay back on white sheets and spread herself open, two fingers stroking slow, wet circles over her swollen clit. Her breath caught each time she dipped lower, sinking into her own heat, slick coating her knuckles. I watched her cunt clench around nothing, glistening in the low light, lips parted and slick with her own need. She slipped two fingers inside, then three, hips lifting to meet the thrust. Her moans sharpened as she found that sweet ridge inside, curling her fingertips hard, body trembling with every stroke. Sweat traced down her belly. She arched, thighs quaking, and came with a sharp cry, inner walls pulsing around her own hand, creamy arousal spilling over her palm and down the crease of her ass. Aftershocks twitched through her, fingers still buried deep until the last flutter faded and she let out one long, shaking breath.