She moves her hips to get precisely what she wants—routing her estrus itch with vigor and pent up frustration. There are no concerns about stamina, no considerations for anything beyond what exact angle and movement felt the most gratifying in the moment. Beyond that, her finesse ends. She has one speed, and it’s fast. One depth, and it’s full. One goal, and it’s to approach the precipice as quickly as possible and scream over the edge without looking back. 