I was crying into the gag now.
Shaking so hard I thought I was going to pass out right there, mid-orgasm, with my p***y smothering his face and my thoughts slipping straight into black.
But I didn’t stop riding him.
I couldn’t stop.
Because his rhythm—oh my God, his rhythm—it wasn’t fair. It was cruel. It was fast and slow and deep and teasing and ruthless all at once. He was using his tongue like it was made to break me. Like it belonged inside me. Like he was sculpted just to taste me.
And I could feel it building again.
Not just an orgasm.
Not just a high.
Something violent.
Something wet.
Something that made my whole stomach cramp and my toes curl and my chest lock up like I was about to f*****g die.
My hips started jerking.
My thighs clamped around his face.
And I screame
