Didn’t expect to walk in and see her like this. Stocking-clad thighs splayed over the couch armrest, fingers already wet from where she’s been playing with herself before you even got close. The gnome nudges past that tight ring first, slow at first—then she pushes back harder, hips grinding into the cushion like she’s trying to swallow it whole. Green beads stretch her wider than they should. A hand grips her waist for balance as she takes them all, gasping when one slips too deep. She knows someone’s watching but pretends not to notice—just bites down on her lip and rides that thing until the couch squeaks under her weight. No lube needed here.
