Cowgirl is the facing position on top, 70+ scenes, about 12% of Tushy: 19 in 2018 and only 2 so far in 2026. Cumshot scenes carry it more than three times as often as the average. Greg Lansky directed 33 of them, and Naomi Swann has the most scenes among the women, 3.
Sandra twists low on her mat, hips open, spine arched. The married man watches from the doorway. His wife is still at the juice bar. He steps inside. Sandra looks up, calm, and slowly straightens her legs until her ass rises, round and tight in black leggings. She holds the pose, breath steady, then lowers again with a quiet exhale. He moves closer. She stays on all fours, knees spread, and glances back once. He drops to his knees behind her, palms on her thighs, feeling heat through the fabric. She pushes back against his hands. No words. He peels the leggings down, lets them bunch at her knees. Bare skin meets cooler air. She reaches between her legs, finds him already hard, guides him in without hurry. The first push is deep. She takes it with a soft sound and starts to move, slow circles of her hips that turn into a steady grind. He grips her waist. She meets every thrust, ass slapping back, the rhythm getting heavier. After a minute she pulls off, turns, and takes him in her mouth. Wet, warm, tasting herself on him. She sucks slow, then deeper, tongue flat along the underside. One hand cups his balls, rolling them gently while her lips slide up and down. Spit runs down her chin. She pulls off just long enough to lick lower, sucking one ball into her mouth, then the other, before taking his cock again. He pulls her up, sits on the mat, and she climbs into his lap facing him. She sinks down again, this time controlling the pace, rolling her hips forward and back. Her ass slaps his thighs with each drop. Sweat gathers at the small of her back. He watches her breasts move, watches her face tighten when he hits the right spot. She leans in, mouth at his ear, breathing hard. No rush. Just the steady sound of skin on skin and the low creak of the yoga mat under them.
Sandra twists low on her mat, hips open, spine arched. The married man watches from the doorway. His wife is still at the juice bar. He steps inside. Sandra looks up, calm, and slowly straightens her legs until her ass rises, round and tight in black leggings. She holds the pose, breath steady, then lowers again with a quiet exhale. He moves closer. She stays on all fours, knees spread, and glances back once. He drops to his knees behind her, palms on her thighs, feeling heat through the fabric. She pushes back against his hands. No words. He peels the leggings down, lets them bunch at her knees. Bare skin meets cooler air. She reaches between her legs, finds him already hard, guides him in without hurry. The first push is deep. She takes it with a soft sound and starts to move, slow circles of her hips that turn into a steady grind. He grips her waist. She meets every thrust, ass slapping back, the rhythm getting heavier. After a minute she pulls off, turns, and takes him in her mouth. Wet, warm, tasting herself on him. She sucks slow, then deeper, tongue flat along the underside. One hand cups his balls, rolling them gently while her lips slide up and down. Spit runs down her chin. She pulls off just long enough to lick lower, sucking one ball into her mouth, then the other, before taking his cock again. He pulls her up, sits on the mat, and she climbs into his lap facing him. She sinks down again, this time controlling the pace, rolling her hips forward and back. Her ass slaps his thighs with each drop. Sweat gathers at the small of her back. He watches her breasts move, watches her face tighten when he hits the right spot. She leans in, mouth at his ear, breathing hard. No rush. Just the steady sound of skin on skin and the low creak of the yoga mat under them.
