Lazy Day

Some days beg for nothing more than old cotton shorts and staring at the ceiling. Zoey Fox claims one. Her morning slides by until she wanders toward the mirror and stops. She studies the hips, breasts, and the curve above her thighs—changes that only finished appearing after she turned eighteen. The mirror steams when she smiles. She pads back to bed, reaches into the nightstand, and pulls out the clear glass dildo she keeps tucked away. Kneeling on the sheets, she slides it between her lips. Wetness greets her fingers at once—wetness she hadn’t noticed before she looked at herself. The first push inside drags a small sound from her throat. She draws it out again, studies the slick glass, then pushes deeper until her cunt tightens around each ridge. She rolls onto her knees and tries the angle she has only read about. The toy sinks farther, catching new, tender flesh that makes her curse and tremble. “Real cock would feel hotter,” she thinks, a tiny smirk crossing her lips. Heat answers that thought. She flips to her back, sets the toy at an easier pace, and brings her free hand to her clit. Fast, tight circles. Hard, wet thrusts. Her breath hitches, catches, breaks. Muscles seize from heels to shoulders, the glass held prisoner inside pulsing walls, wave after wave squeezing until the last ripple fades and she lies open, flushed, slick against cool sheets. Even lazy days leave their mark.