He thrust. His hips moved. The cock, between her thighs, slid forward. The head, passing beneath her pussy, emerged from between her legs. The shaft, slick with her arousal, rubbed against her lips. The friction, the heat, the pressure against her clit, made her moan.
"Sit up," he said. "Let's go to the capital. Aren't you a noble woman?"
His fingers, still inside her pussy, curled. Found the spot. The rough patch on the front wall. The cluster of nerve endings that he'd mapped hours ago. He pressed.
She screamed. The sound, muffled by her own hand, which had flown to her mouth, was still audible. Her body convulsed. Her pussy clamped. The walls clenched around his fingers, the muscles contracting in rapid, involuntary pulses.
He fingered her. Hard. Fast. The rhythm was relentless. Two fingers, then three. The walls stretched. The entrance yielded. The fluid, hot and copious, ran down his hand, down her thighs, onto the floor.
