She was going to c*m again. She was going to c*m harder, more violently, more overwhelmingly than before, and this time, she was going to have to swallow it down, suppress it completely, hide it entirely, or the game would end, the illusion would shatter, and he would pull away and leave her incomplete and unfulfilled and desperate. The thought terrified her, the thought of enduring another violent climax without reacting, without moving, without making a sound, was almost impossible to contemplate, almost impossible to imagine, almost impossible to believe that she could achieve.
But she had to. She had to. There was no other option. There was no other way. There was no other choice. She had to c*m silently, she had to c*m limp, she had to c*m " asleep," or she would lose him, lose this,
