She doesn’t ask. Doesn’t warn. Just straddles him like he’s her personal fucktoy—thick thighs squeezing his hips as she rides down hard, no mercy. Red curls spill over her shoulders while she gags on his cock, spit dripping onto his chest as he gags out pathetic little moans. No foreplay. No teasing. She’s already in charge—knees digging into the mattress as she slams back up, tits bouncing free from whatever flimsy top she wore earlier. His hands? Not allowed near her body unless she says so. Then the switch: face-down on the bed now, ass high while she kneels behind him like some kind of vengeful goddess.
