If my pussy is the answer, what would the question be?

The question forms itself the moment your eyes land on her — something urgent, wordless, rewriting every thought you walked in with.

She already knows. That slight tilt of her hips, the unhurried way she holds your gaze — she's been the answer long before you knew what to ask.

Get close enough and the question stops mattering. What you find between her thighs is warm, precise, and absolutely certain — the kind of answer that dissolves the mind and leaves your mouth searching for something it can't quite name.