The Gilded Age A XXX Parody

You’re standing inches from her. Marian’s dress is cut too low for a proper parlor. She’s right there, breathing the same air you are. Blonde hair pinned up, a few strands already loose against her neck. You want to grab her, shove that silk down her shoulders, but you hold back—until she tilts her chin and the look in her eyes tells you she’s done waiting too. Your hand slides under the fabric. Warm skin meets your fingers. You push lower, past lace, and she spreads for you without a word. First two fingers inside her, then three. She’s wet, slick, clenching around you in quick pulses. Her breath stutters. Your thumb rubs her clit in tight circles and she starts rocking on your hand, hips rolling like she’s forgotten where she is. She reaches down, finds your cock already hard against your trousers, squeezes once, twice. Then her own fingers slip between her legs, working alongside yours, rubbing faster, wetter, harder. She’s not shy. She’s showing you exactly how she wants it—right here, right now, before anyone walks in. The risk makes it hotter. Every thrust of your fingers pulls a soft moan out of her. Her free hand grips your wrist, urging you deeper. You can feel her getting close, thighs trembling, nipples tight under the thin dress. She leans in, mouth brushing your ear, whispering something filthy and reckless that makes your cock twitch. You push harder. She comes on your fingers, quick and sharp, biting her lip to stay quiet. Her hand is still working between her legs, drawing it out, chasing every last pulse. When she finally stills, she doesn’t pull away. She just looks at you, flushed, satisfied, daring you to keep going before the whole damn house finds out.