She starts slow, lips parted just enough to let out a shaky breath. Fingers glide over wet folds as if testing the waters before diving in deep. That knowing smirk? She’s been doing this since before your dad was born. Stockings half-rolled down her thighs, one leg hooked over the armrest while she toys with herself like it’s an invitation—not a performance. Her free hand reaches up, tugging at her own nipple as if daring you to look closer. The couch creaks under her weight when she shifts positions, ass lifting just enough to tease what’s next.