Tan lines from a bikini top still visible where her dress was pulled down. Red thong damp and clinging between heavy thighs as she straddles him, riding slow at first like testing if anyone’s listening. Then—hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging in—she starts grinding harder, hips snapping against his stomach. The couch cushions sink deeper with every thrust; one hand slips under her ass to lift her higher for deeper strokes. When he flips her onto her back mid-motion, knees hooking over his arms, she bites back a moan but doesn’t stop staring into the camera like this is exactly what she wanted all along.
