"Please— please stop—"
Her voice had gone raw. Not the kind of raw that comes from screaming for an hour — she had passed that threshold somewhere around the third time he made her come. This was deeper. Scrape-the-throat raw. The kind of raw where the vocal cords themselves swell and every word comes out sandpapered.
She was face down on the bed. Her breasts — heavy, full, still leaking that thin milky fluid — were pressed flat against the silk, the mounds spreading wide under her own weight, the nipples dragging against the fabric each time his thrust pushed her forward. Her right leg was lifted, bent at the knee, hooked over his forearm. He held it there — casually, one-handed, as if he were carrying a jug of water — and the angle opened her completely. Her thick thigh was pressed against his chest, the soft flesh warm against his skin, and below it her pussy — hairy, swollen, raw, leaking his cum in thin white threads — was exposed.
His cock was in her ass.
