Faith

She was supposed to meet him at eight, but the phone never rang. Faith peeled off the dress anyway, kept the heels on. Nothing else to do tonight but make herself come hard. She leaned back on the bed, legs spread wide, and shoved two fingers straight into her cunt. The high heels stayed planted on the mattress while she worked her wrist, pumping deep, getting wet fast. Her free hand slid up to her tits. She grabbed the left one first, squeezed until the flesh spilled between her fingers, then twisted the nipple sharp enough to make her hiss. Breath coming faster, she switched hands. The right went lower. She pressed her thumb against her clit and started rubbing in tight circles while two slick fingers pushed at her asshole. No warm-up, no easing in. She forced them past the tight ring and felt the stretch burn, felt the wrong kind of pleasure spark up her spine. Her tits got rougher treatment after that. She slapped the undersides, watched them bounce and redden, then pinched both nipples at once and pulled until she gasped. The fingers in her ass never slowed. She fucked herself with short, hard strokes, hips lifting off the sheets to meet every thrust. When she finally came, her asshole clenched around her own fingers and her tits throbbed under her grip. She stayed like that for a moment—heels digging in, chest heaving—before she pulled out, wiped her hand on her thigh, and wondered if she’d bother getting dressed again tonight.