I love it when he takes me from behind — slow at first, just enough to make me beg for more. My panties are always soaked before he even touches me, clinging to me, teasing me with every little movement. I feel everything — the pressure, the stretch, the way he fills me so deep it makes me moan without thinking. I push back against him, needing more, craving the way he grips my hips and loses control. Each thrust sends a shock through me, my legs shake. I’m soaked, messy, and I don’t care. I want him to feel how wet I am, how much I need this. When I finally come, it crashes over me hard — I’m trembling, clenching around him, my panties sticking to me, sticky and wet. I love that feeling. That ache after. That fullness. That perfect, filthy satisfaction.
