Beaver Hunt #1 - Part 5

The camera catches her just as she steps into the room—hair up, pin curls, stockings with seams straight up the back. She knows you’re watching. She bends over the vanity, hips swaying like she’s teasing a stage full of men who can’t touch. Lace garters bite into soft skin. Her dress is barely there, all silk and buttons begging to pop. She runs her hands over her waist, her thighs, lets them drift lower until she’s cupping herself, fingers pressing in slow circles. The hem of her slip rides up, exposing everything. She spreads her legs just enough, leaning on the polished wood, and starts working her clit with a lazy confidence, like she’s done this a hundred times for men like you. Her breathing gets heavier, faster. She slips two fingers inside, pumps them steady and deep, wrist twisting with every stroke. Her moans are low, dirty, the kind you lean in to catch. She glances back over her shoulder, smirks like she’s got you exactly where she wants, and keeps going—hips rocking, thighs trembling—until she cums hard, biting her lip and riding it out like it’s the best secret in the room.