The picture I sent at 11:47 was obscene.
Legs spread on the bathroom floor. Fingers holding myself open. Both loads still glossy and thick at my entrance, a heavy string of it sliding down toward the tile. His reply came in under a minute.
Good. Hold it. Thursday. 6pm. Throat first. Don’t clean up before I get there.
I slept in the mess. Woke up sticky. By the time he knocked I was already naked on the couch, mouth open, cunt swollen and leaking onto the cushion I’d stopped trying to protect.
He locked the door, looked at the state of me, and freed his c**k.
“You listened. Still full from last time. Open wider.”
He pushed into my throat without warning. The head hit the back and stayed until I gagged and spit flooded down my chin. He gripped my hair and f****d my mouth in hard, deep
