Perfect Fit - Scene 2

She pressed back against the headboard, legs splayed wide, silk nightgown bunched uselessly at her waist. Her heels dug into the mattress. Her right hand gripped the phallus thickly, slick with lube and arousal. On the fifth beat of the song she drove it in, smooth, unhesitating. Her cunt accepted the intrusion with greedy ease. Wetness glistened, thick strings connecting her swollen folds to the base of the toy each time it slid free. She leaned forward, both hands steadying her weight. The same beat demanded her hips grind again and she obeyed. Her nipples pushed dark shadows through the lace. Her abs contracted. Sweat traced fine lines down her stomach and the lace clung to her ribs. Each thrust matched the drums: a clean jolt, balls-deep, followed by the deliberate withdrawal that left her empty and hungry. Her moan rose, threaded through the music. The lamp on the nightstand cast soft amber across her thighs. She rotated her pelvis when the guitar solo hit, working herself open wider. Lube dripped between her ass cheeks and trailed dark streaks on the sheets. She laughed once, low and dirty, because she could hear the singer’s voice strain while her own cunt gripped and released in a private rhythm. Her wrist ached but she did not slow. The toy gleamed when it surfaced; then she buried it again. Faster. The hollow pop and wet smack of flesh meeting silicone filled the small bedroom. Her clit bobbed in time, firm, untouched. Occasionally she jerked the toy at a new angle just to feel its head grind across the tender front wall, sending sharp jolts through her pelvis. Her thighs trembled, not from fatigue but from the impossible tension of delaying an orgasm she could already taste. The sound of her breathing grew loud and jagged beneath the recorded track, overriding every lyric. She ground down hard, heel slipping on silk, hips still shifting, mouth parted, waiting for the final drum hit to drive herself over the edge.