The Villa - Part 2

Janine’s house sits dead quiet while her husband’s gone fishing. She pours one more glass of wine, already buzzin’ from the first two, slips off her shorts, and drops onto the wide couch in nothing but an old T-shirt. One hand slides between her thighs and finds her already slick, the other scrolls through a folder she saved late last night. Seven clips—her little secret stash. First video loads up grainy, some tattooed guy stroking slow, veins thick on his thick shaft. Janine watches, teeth on her lower lip, and starts rubbing circles around her clit like she’s in a damn hurry. She shifts, spreads wider, lets out a quiet fuck when two fingers push in deep. The video jumps to another dude—big hands, slow grin, pumping into a girl who sounds just like her when she moans. Janine keeps pace, hips rolling, wine glass forgotten and tilted on the rug. Third clip’s the nastiest: two women eating each other out right there on a marble counter. She bucks harder at that, thumb flicking faster, breath all sharp little pants echoing off the walls. Sweat dampens her shirt where it clings to her tits; she doesn’t care enough to yank it off. A fourth comes on, guy with a shaved head jerking hard enough the mic picks up every slap. Her wrist’s getting tired, but her cunt’s greedy—her fourth finger slips in, stretch burning sweet. The fifth clip is the one that puts her over: close-up POV, tongue lapping, the actress on-screen half screaming when she comes. Janine goes rigid, thighs locked around her hand, pulse hammering as the orgasm hits heavy and hot, soaking her fingers and the cushion beneath her. She rides the tail of it, still rolling her knuckles inside till the shivers fade. Five minutes of bliss, tops. She kicks the phone aside, grabs the tilted glass, and grins at the ceiling—naughty little secret locked back in her folder, and nobody the wiser.