The stretch was immediate, brutal. My walls clamped down, trying to push him out, but he curled them hard—hooking against that spot inside, rubbing relentlessly while his palm ground against my clit.

I screamed into the couch cushion. My hips bucked—forward, back, couldn’t decide. “Stop—please—too much—”

“Shut up.” He twisted his fingers deeper, knuckles grinding. Wet squelching sounds filled the room—loud, filthy, matching the rhythm of his hand. My pussy gushed around him, coating his wrist, dripping onto the couch in dark spots. Every curl made my toes curl, every grind against my clit sent jolts up my spine.

I came without warning—sudden, violent. My pussy spasmed around his fingers...