I stripped down to just my collar and gripped the cross, leaning forward. His hands dug into my hips to thrust my ass out toward him.
He began just by touching, rubbing over the areas he would soon abuse. It let me prepare mentally, and get focused on him rather than the people around us. And then he brought out the hefty PVC pipe that he knows is my favorite toy, for good reason.
Is there any way to accurately describe the flood of heat and ice and weakness that flooded me as he started to beat a steady tattoo against my skin? Within moments, I was clinging for dear life to the sturdy piece of furniture in front of me. I was cold and sweaty all at once as I flooded. Every movement was an excuse for him to hit harder, to shove the length between my legs and tap my nearing thighs apart, to make me keen and moan until my head swam and only my death grip held me up.
Time was both sped up with the pulse on my tongue and slowed down to the dull murmur of the crowd in the distance. And he hit harder for a few beats, then leaned forward, the coolness of his cotton shirt brushing against my flushed body and then–
Sharp, hot, so deep. The imprint of his teeth in my flesh and the crest of the wave hit me. I was done.
He stroked my plump ass and told me how well I’d done, then held me on the couch until the shaking and after shocks had passed.
It was my first true paingasm.