She arches her back and presents herself without hesitation, that impossibly snug ring of muscle catching the light in a way that makes your breath stop mid-exhale.

You press forward slowly, feeling every millimeter of resistance grip you like a fist that refuses to negotiate — warm, insistent, pulling you deeper before you've decided to go there.

When you try to withdraw, her body simply disagrees. That tight clutch holds firm around you, a slick, pulsing pressure that turns your exit into an invitation to stay buried exactly where you are.