Forty Eight Hours Since a Man Touched My Wet Slit

She knows exactly what she's doing to you. Her dark hair cascades down her fair skin as she sits, top pulled up, breasts exposed. Her manicured fingers, adorned with gold and a dark stone ring, pull her inner thighs wide apart, revealing her shaved vulva. Her raised feet splay toward the lens, soles visible.

She holds this pose, her gaze fixed forward, as she gently rubs her clitoris and labia with her index and middle fingers. Her expression remains neutral, but the heat builds. She lowers her hands and lifts both legs vertically, knees bent, feet pointing toward the ceiling. Returning to the spread-leg pose, she grips her thighs again.

As she crosses her legs at the ankles and holds her thigh near the knee with one hand, you can't help but stroke along with her rhythm. Your pulse quickens as she occasionally shifts her weight or adjusts her grip, partially obscuring her face behind her raised limbs. The anticipation is almost too much to bear. How long will you last as she continues to tease, legs still crossed and lifted?