Tan lines from ripped stockings still visible as she straddles him on the couch, red nails digging into his shoulders. The cat mask hides nothing—just wet lips and a smirk that says ‘You’re lucky I let you watch.’ No lube needed; she’s already soaked from teasing him earlier. First ride is slow, grinding until he can’t hold back—but when he flips her over mid-thrust? That’s when the real fun starts. Stockings tear under her thighs, mascara smudges as she begs for more.
