It’s almost 7:10 PM and I’m already in bed, wearing my favorite white lace bodysuit that barely covers anything.

I’m propped up against the pillows, phone in hand, taking pictures just for you. The way the lace clings to my pale skin, the way my nipples press against the sheer fabric… I know you’re going to lose your mind when you see them.

I bite my lip as I snap another one, slowly pulling the strap down my shoulder.

Each photo gets a little riskier. I arch my back, push my tits together, turn around and show you how the lace disappears between my cheeks. I’m getting wetter with every click, imagining your reaction when these land in your messages.

My free hand slides between my thighs, rubbing slow circles over the damp lace while I keep taking photos. Soft little moans escape my lips as I think about you stroking to me right now.

I want you to see everything. The way my body flushes pink when I’m turned on. The way my breath catches when I slip my fingers inside myself. I want you to hear how wet I sound when I finally push the phone aside and really start touching myself — all while thinking about you watching these photos and getting harder by the second.

Because these selfies aren’t just pictures… they’re an invitation.