Amylee

Lancelot struts into the bedroom with an honest-to-god broadsword over his shoulder, naked except for a wizard cloak he definitely stole from a renfaire. "Behold my mighty-" She yanks him down by the cloak's collar before he finishes the joke and grinds her hips against his cock until he groans and drops the blade. It clatters against the floorboard as she pushes him flat on his back, straddling him like she's done it a hundred times. Her hand wraps around his thick shaft, thumb smearing the bead of precum over the head while she rocks her soaked cunt along the underside, coating him in her slick. "Enough roleplay," she says, lining him up. She sinks down slow enough to savor every inch stretching her open, thighs trembling as she takes the full length until her ass settles against his balls. He grips her waist hard enough to leave fingerprints, thrusting up to meet her every time she drops. She rides him fast, breasts bouncing, sweat slicking her skin, panting like she might burst into laughter or moan, maybe both. He flips them suddenly, pinning her wrists above her head, driving into her at a brutal angle that makes her toes curl. When he comes he bites her shoulder, hips stuttering deep. She keeps rolling her hips through the aftershocks, milking every drop until they're both sticky and spent and still half-laughing.