Watching Savanna - Part 3

Savanna slaps her raw cunt onto the barn couch like she owns it, back arched, thighs spread wide, ass cheeks flexing in the piss-yellow light. She fucks herself slow at first—two fingers hooked up, juices dripping down her crack in thick strings. Then she gets mean, slamming four knuckles deep, thumb grinding circles on her clit till it shines. Little animal grunts leave her throat every time she bottoms out. Sweat beads on the small of her back; a bead rolls down the crack and joins the mess. Her tits hang heavy, nipples stiff from the chill of the barn floor under her knees. She starts talking smack—“bet you’d bust already, huh?”—laughing between moans while the leather cushion squelches beneath her greedy slit. Pace never lets up; fingers piston like pistons, pussy lips stretched pink and shiny around them. She drags her orgasm out long, making it snarl through her whole body until her legs shake and she smears a puddle of fuck-slick across the cushion, then leaves her hand still shoved inside, pulsing around her own knuckles like she’s daring someone to pull it free.