Page 166 of Slapshot Baby

“You taste so good. I’ve been dreaming about choking on this cock, about you fucking my throat until I can’t breathe.”

Then she takes me deeper, gagging softly when I hit the back of her throat, eyes watering. Still she pushes further. The sounds she makes are wet, messy, desperate.

Spit runs down my shaft. Her hand works the base she can’t reach, twisting on every upstroke.

I last maybe a minute before I pull her off by the hair, chest heaving.

“On the couch now or I’m going to come down your throat and I need to be inside you when I lose it.”

She stands, turns toward the couch, and shoves her shorts and underwear down in one motion. They pool around her ankles and she kicks them away.

She’s naked except for the flush spreading down her chest. She places both hands on the armrest and looks over her shoulder at me, ass presented, the glistening pink of her pussy already visible between her thighs.

“Come here,” she says, voice low and commanding. “I want it from behind. I want you to hold me down and fuck me like you own me.”

I grab a condom from the drawer in the side table. She watches me roll it on, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

I step behind her.

The sight of her body from this angle punches the air from my lungs. Her hips, those fuller curves spreading wider under my hands. The deep dip of her lower back. The way her thighs tense as she spreads them wider, presenting herself.

I can see how wet she is, the slick shine coating her inner thighs.

I run one hand down the length of her spine, slow, feeling every vertebra. She shivers hard, pressing back toward me, seeking.

“Don’t make me wait,” she begs. “Please, I need it.”

I grip her hip with one hand, and guide the thick head of my cock to her entrance with the other. She’s dripping, swollen, the heat of her radiating against me.

I push inside slowly, just the head.

The sound she makes fills the entire room. It’s deep, guttural, pulled from somewhere below her lungs, half moan, half sob of relief.

“All of it,” she demands, voice breaking. “Give me every fucking inch. Don’t hold back.”

I drive forward in one long, relentless thrust until I’m fully seated, balls flush against her. Her fingers dig into the couch arm hard. She’s tight, impossibly hot, walls already fluttering around me.

I pull back almost all the way and thrust again, harder, and she slams her hips back to meet me with a wet slap that echoes.

“Yes, right there. Harder, Kai… fuck me harder—”

I find a rhythm. Deep, punishing strokes that rock her whole body forward with every impact.

She matches me, rolling her hips back in a grinding motion that takes me deeper than the thrust alone, the wet sounds of our bodies meeting growing louder, filthier.

“You feel so fucking good,” I tell her, voice rough with strain. “So wet. So tight around my cock. You’re dripping down my balls. I can hear how messy you are for me.”

“Keep talking,” she gasps, breathless, voice already cracking. “I want to hear every dirty thing. Tell me how I feel.”

“I can feel you squeezing me every time I bottom out. Your pussy’s greedy for it—, clenching like it doesn’t want to let me go. You’re so swollen and hot it’s driving me insane.”

“Kai—” My name comes out shattered in her mouth, half moan, half plea.

I grip both hips harder, fingers digging into the soft new curves, and increase the pace. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the living room. It’s rhythmic, relentless.

She’s moaning continuously now, unrestrained, head dropped between her arms, hair spilling forward. Every thrust punches a higher, sharper sound out of her.

Her hand reaches between her thighs. I feel her fingers working her clit, the knuckles brushing the base of my cock on every stroke.