She’s been doing this since he was in diapers. Stockings ripped at the knees, thighs thick as tree trunks, that tattooed arm flexing as she leans over him—no hesitation. First she teases: lips wrapped tight around his cock while her free hand gropes a tit heavy enough to leave fingerprints. Then she flips him like a pancake, ass up on the couch cushion, stockings digging into soft skin. No lube needed; years of practice mean everything slides right in. He tries to slow her down but she just laughs—a wet sound—and rides harder until the springs squeak like they’re begging for mercy.