Lesbian Psychodramas #03 - Remastered

She stretched out across the bed like she already knew she owned it. Knees bent, thighs splayed open, her bare cunt shining under the light. Pale skin, pink inner lips, small dark curls still damp from a bath that never happened. The kind of cunt a man starts thinking about long before he actually touches it. She put a hand between her legs and spread herself wider, fingertips pulling at those soft folds, showing the slick inside like it was the center of a very dirty poem. Then her fingers moved, slow at first, then faster, slipping in and out of her hole with wet, rhythmic little sounds that filled the quiet room. The black ink on her right thigh glared like an obscenity to match the pink one her cunt was offering up. Her other arm was tucked behind her head, ribs lifting and falling with each stroke, her lips parted like maybe she meant to breathe or moan or swear. A gentle tremor ran down her spine. In the low light the ridges of her collarbones looked so delicate they almost invited teeth. Her nipples had gone tight, the flat of her stomach quivering faintly as her knuckles pressed closer, slick dragging across each fold again and again. She worked it like she wasn't saving anything for later. She was filthy with purpose. Nobody on that ugly motel carpet she wouldn't have shown it all to, shown them exactly how wet she gets when she forgets who’s supposed to be watching.