Slowly. Inch by inch. Six. Seven. Eight. The shaft slid deeper. Her walls parted. They were forced open. They clung to the shaft—tight, virgin, untrained. Every inch was a new sensation. A new stretch. A new fullness. She could feel him inside her. She could feel the head. She could feel the veins. She could feel the pulse of his cock against her walls.
"Hngh— ah— ngh—!" she moaned. Her eyes were closed. Her teeth were clenched. Her hands gripped the back of his coat. Her fingers dug into the fabric. "Please— slow— please— slower—"
He pulled out.
Slowly. The shaft emerged. Her walls clung. The friction was intense. She could feel every ridge. Every vein. The head caught on her entrance. Her lips pulled outward—convex, clinging, reluctant. The head popped free. Her pussy gaped. Open. Empty. Wet with blood and her own slick.
He slammed.
