Where would want me to land my pussy, your dick or your face?

You spot a petite frame hovering above you, thighs parted just enough to make your pulse spike before your brain catches up.

You feel the heat radiating down before any contact is made, and your hands grip whatever is closest because the anticipation is almost unbearable.

You already know the answer before the question finishes leaving those lips — your body has made the decision without asking you, every nerve ending voting unanimously, pulling that warm weight exactly where the ache is loudest.