The Art of Romance: witson

Morning light bathes her in “witson” as she wakes already needy. Sheets tangle around naked hips while she grinds lazily against a pillow, moaning “witson” into the quiet room. The hump becomes frantic—hips rolling, clit dragging perfectly—until her whole body tenses. In this “witson” she comes with soft, sleepy cries, thighs trembling, then licks her own sweetness from her fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.