There is a hole for you. What will you do with that?

You find your gaze locked onto that ass, perfectly presented like an answer to a question you've been asking your whole life.

You feel your pulse shift somewhere lower, your hands already imagining the warmth of that skin under your palms, the give of it, the grip.

You know exactly what you'd do — you'd take your time, make every second deliberate, let the anticipation build until it becomes unbearable, until that waiting hole feels like the only destination that has ever made sense to you.