Lay down so I can ride your face ?

She doesn't ask twice. The weight of her thighs pressing down around your ears, the warmth of her skin against your jaw — this is exactly where she wants you, pinned and useful.

Her hips find their own rhythm, slow then urgent, taking what she came for without apology. Your hands grip her waist but she controls the pace, leaning forward, knuckles white against the headboard.

Amateur in label only — she knows precisely how to use what's beneath her, reading every reaction, adjusting her angle until your fingers dig deeper and she gets exactly what she rode down for.