Black lace stockings tearing at the seams while he grips her thighs hard enough to leave bruises. The garter belt slides down her hips with one practiced tug—nothing left between them but skin, sweat, and that confident smirk of a woman who knows exactly what she wants. Stockings still clinging to one thigh as she sinks down onto him slow, deliberate—cushions squelching under her weight. Legs shake when he hits that spot; mascara runs but she doesn’t care. Reverse cowgirl next, fingers digging into his shoulders as if trying to anchor herself before the real work begins.