Sunday he didn’t knock.
The door opened at 5:58 and he locked it behind him. I was already naked on the couch, legs spread, two fingers holding myself open so he could see the shine and the faint white still clinging from Thursday. He looked, exhaled, and freed his c**k.
“You stayed full. Good girl. Hands off. I’m starting in your cunt today. No throat first. I want to feel how much you’re still holding before I add more.”
He shoved my knees up and pushed in slow. I was swollen, soaked, soft from days of him. The stretch still made me gasp. He sank to the root and stayed there, grinding, feeling the mess move around his c**k. Then he started f*****g me deep and steady, each thrust forcing little spurts of old c*m out around him and down onto the cushion that had stopped looking clean we
