Free Pass

Katrina Colt drops between Tommy Pistol's thighs and swallows him down. No hesitation. Just that hungry mouth working overtime, tongue flat, lips tight, gagging on purpose because she knows it gets him off. He fists her hair and drives deeper, past her gag reflex, past any idea of tender. She takes it. Every inch. Eyes watering, spit running down her chin, but she doesn't pull away—she pushes harder, because good girls don't choke like this and that thrill makes her wetter than any vanilla foreplay ever could. Then he's up, slamming her against the couch, yanking her panties aside like they're the last thing in his way. She bends over the armrest and arches her back like an animal, ass high, pussy glistening. He doesn't ease in. No preamble. Just that hard thrust all the way to the hilt, and she shouts through her teeth because it hurts the way she likes it, splitting her open while he grips her hips and uses her like the thing she is right then—his. Legs shaking, teeth on the upholstery, she reaches back to spread herself wider so he can bottom out with every stroke. They shift. Now she's on top, riding him reverse, bouncing like nothing else matters, bouncing till the slap of skin drowns out her moans. Then sideways, one leg hooked over his shoulder while he rails her sideways on the cushions. The fourth position: full mating press, knees to her ears, his weight pinning her so deep she can't breathe without it feeling like he's inside her lungs too. The room smells like sweat and sex and spit. Every thrust rocks the furniture; every time he pulls out all the way, they both groan like it's personally offensive, then he slams back in and she clamps down on him like her body wants to keep him forever. Her second climax hits mid-thrust; the third sneaks up right behind when he presses two fingers to her clit and circles, not gentle, but merciless. He doesn't stop until he's ready—shoves in one last time, buries himself, and pumps her full with thick, hot pulses that leave her leaking around his cock before he even pulls out. They stay tangled, breathing hard, already thinking about the next round.