underneath his blazer.
Duh-dum. Duh-dum. Duh-dum comes the music. Both cars on screen are hurtling towards a one-way bridge, one of them shooting off into the river.
He moves himself over as far as he can go in his chair, picking his moment.
A desert road looms on screen, a vanishing point little more than a pinprick in the center.
All thought is sexual.
Fingers.
Pussy.
Cum.
Brock’s right hand moves to my genitals again. He cups his hand slightly and reaches under my bum, fingers spread evenly over each cheek. His middle finger presses between them, feeling the resistance and then, thanks to my arousal, slipping between them to rest its length along the rosebud of my anus, clenched tight in anticipation, My mouth falls open as he adds pressure onto the muscle there, almost pushing beyond its barrier, but not quite. I feel the underside of his finger and then the top as it dips just below the muscle, the long phallic length of his longest finger running up into my perineum, that short length of softness separating my anus and vagina, running over its solid surface before plunging deep within me, his knuckle grazing the slack bottom lip of my cunt.
My mouth falls open. I’m drooling.
I rest my head against the back of the chair lest it fall forward.
I press my tongue to the top of my mouth to prevent myself crying out at the stars and colors that collide inside my eyelids.
His finger comes out and there’s a terrible emptiness there.
Then I feel three fingers widening me, cupping in and out, shoveling their way into the deepest confines of my cunt and opening up new sensations, finding long-forgotten areas of erogeny.
My head explodes a-new, my body washed with chemicals and strange reactions.
An urge to release, to let go and come rises, but I force it down. I squeeze my buttocks down on the harsh fabric below, forcing my chest out.
My nipples bite into my bra, longing to be freed.
His fingers probe deep into my pussy, hooking up into the fleshy ceiling, grinding against the hard acorn of nerve endings there and sending a new wave of sensation fresh through me.
He’s breathing hard, trying to muffle the sound.
I can’t close my mouth as his palm rubs back and forth over my clit, now rising to attention. I turn my head sideways and bite into the back of the chair to stifle my moans.
I can hear his fingers below, the squelch of fluids as they move in and out, picking up pace. I feel my outer labia flex in and out with the effort, his three fingers filling me, and I picture them as his cock, smooth inside me, stroking out wet up to his balls.
The sound of his fingers pushing through my cum is loud, but the soundtrack rises in intensity and washes it out. I’ve never been more thankful for a chase scene in my entire life. Lights flicker on and off. Speakers boom. Noise and sounds and colors and feelings bounce around in my head, a never-ending tempest of sensation while his fingers plunge into me again and again.
The urge to let go is knocking. I need to take the edge off. I need a distraction before I come, writhing against his hand.
Clenching the armrest tight with my right hand, I keep my left low, moving it to the front of his pants, walking my fingers up to his belt. I work at the buckle, feeling his heartbeat reverberate through the metal, the constricted head of his cock desperately pressed against denim.
The buckle loosens with an audible click and I’m pushing it away, twixing his top button in one hand, bending my elbow to run my hand through his pubic hair. It goes underneath the waist band of his jocks and grabs the bulbous head of his dick, already wet with pre-cum in anticipation.
I wrap my fingers around this warm organ, lift it upwards and into the air so that we’re both exposed. He desperately tries to maintain composure. His free fingers brush my own, my hand already slipping down his shaft from the wetness that’s gathered at the top. I roll my fingers over the head and it’s
Duh-dum. Duh-dum. Duh-dum comes the music. Both cars on screen are hurtling towards a one-way bridge, one of them shooting off into the river.
He moves himself over as far as he can go in his chair, picking his moment.
A desert road looms on screen, a vanishing point little more than a pinprick in the center.
All thought is sexual.
Fingers.
Pussy.
Cum.
Brock’s right hand moves to my genitals again. He cups his hand slightly and reaches under my bum, fingers spread evenly over each cheek. His middle finger presses between them, feeling the resistance and then, thanks to my arousal, slipping between them to rest its length along the rosebud of my anus, clenched tight in anticipation, My mouth falls open as he adds pressure onto the muscle there, almost pushing beyond its barrier, but not quite. I feel the underside of his finger and then the top as it dips just below the muscle, the long phallic length of his longest finger running up into my perineum, that short length of softness separating my anus and vagina, running over its solid surface before plunging deep within me, his knuckle grazing the slack bottom lip of my cunt.
My mouth falls open. I’m drooling.
I rest my head against the back of the chair lest it fall forward.
I press my tongue to the top of my mouth to prevent myself crying out at the stars and colors that collide inside my eyelids.
His finger comes out and there’s a terrible emptiness there.
Then I feel three fingers widening me, cupping in and out, shoveling their way into the deepest confines of my cunt and opening up new sensations, finding long-forgotten areas of erogeny.
My head explodes a-new, my body washed with chemicals and strange reactions.
An urge to release, to let go and come rises, but I force it down. I squeeze my buttocks down on the harsh fabric below, forcing my chest out.
My nipples bite into my bra, longing to be freed.
His fingers probe deep into my pussy, hooking up into the fleshy ceiling, grinding against the hard acorn of nerve endings there and sending a new wave of sensation fresh through me.
He’s breathing hard, trying to muffle the sound.
I can’t close my mouth as his palm rubs back and forth over my clit, now rising to attention. I turn my head sideways and bite into the back of the chair to stifle my moans.
I can hear his fingers below, the squelch of fluids as they move in and out, picking up pace. I feel my outer labia flex in and out with the effort, his three fingers filling me, and I picture them as his cock, smooth inside me, stroking out wet up to his balls.
The sound of his fingers pushing through my cum is loud, but the soundtrack rises in intensity and washes it out. I’ve never been more thankful for a chase scene in my entire life. Lights flicker on and off. Speakers boom. Noise and sounds and colors and feelings bounce around in my head, a never-ending tempest of sensation while his fingers plunge into me again and again.
The urge to let go is knocking. I need to take the edge off. I need a distraction before I come, writhing against his hand.
Clenching the armrest tight with my right hand, I keep my left low, moving it to the front of his pants, walking my fingers up to his belt. I work at the buckle, feeling his heartbeat reverberate through the metal, the constricted head of his cock desperately pressed against denim.
The buckle loosens with an audible click and I’m pushing it away, twixing his top button in one hand, bending my elbow to run my hand through his pubic hair. It goes underneath the waist band of his jocks and grabs the bulbous head of his dick, already wet with pre-cum in anticipation.
I wrap my fingers around this warm organ, lift it upwards and into the air so that we’re both exposed. He desperately tries to maintain composure. His free fingers brush my own, my hand already slipping down his shaft from the wetness that’s gathered at the top. I roll my fingers over the head and it’s
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