Riley's Pussy Can't Wait

Riley grins at you, all dimples and nipples and I-know-what-you-came-for energy. She’s small but stacked, shirt half open already like the clothes simply gave up. "You look like the perfect friend," she says, tugging the fabric wide so those tits spill out and jiggle like they’re happy to meet you. Her shorts are already damp; she peels them aside, gives a playful twirl, and your eyes get the full tour—slick lips, tight little clench, everything she’s offering on a silver tray of let’s-do-this. She crawls onto the bed on all fours, ass up, cunt gleaming. "Go on, stuff that hard cock in somewhere. I’m not picky." You push in and she moans like it’s the best joke she’s ever heard, rocking back to meet every stroke, clenching around you with greedy little pulses. When you’re close she flips around, sticks her tongue out, and takes every hot spurt across her lips, cheeks, tits—painting herself like cheap makeup. She licks a drip off her finger, winks, and says, "Best. Friend. Ever."