The vibrations made the fabric itself buzz audibly, a low, wet hum that mixed with the obscene plup-plup-plup-plup of liquid being churned inside her.
Is her pussy going to be okay?
The thought flashed through the haze.
She was dripping so much—endless, clear fluid gushing out in rhythmic pulses, soaking my hand to the elbow, pooling on the floor in a wide, reflective lake—but she hadn't cum. Not in the way that it should count as one.
I could tell.
Her body was locked in a state of constant, torturous near-climax: walls spasming, clit jumping, entrance clenching and releasing in useless rhythm, but the peak kept slipping away, held just out of reach by the sheer overwhelming speed.
She was teetering on the edge, body betraying her with every tremor, but refusing to fall.
Wait, what's this? I'm actually going to lose?
And the little imp even resumed stroking my dick with renewed fury.
