Backstage for January 2011

Murka stretches her body long against the mirror. Legs spread, arms overhead, she peels the thin straps of her dress down inch by inch. Nipples stand tight. She cups one breast and rolls the nipple between thumb and finger, breathing heavier each time. A soft sound slips from her throat. The dress slips farther, hips bare now, the line between ass and thigh sharp in the light. She bends at the waist, palms on her knees, and the mirror fills with cunt and the slick shine between her lips. Two fingers slide in easy. She watches herself take them to the last knuckle, pulls them out wet, pushes them back in with a wet sound. Each thrust rocks her hips forward. Sweat beads along her spine and trickles into the cleft of her ass. Her free hand grips the edge of the vanity for balance. The muscles in her thighs tighten and release with every pump. When she leans closer to the glass, the reflection of her open mouth meets her eyes and she laughs once, low and rough, before driving the fingers deeper.