Every muscle in your body coils, each last inch of you knotting as a coarse, broken scream rips itself from deep inside your chest. Your abs tighten and push down on autopilot, pinning down your torso with a vise grip, too taut and rigid to feel like anything of a human origin.

Your pussy spasms uncontrollably, the Kegel shooting out with a vulgar pop to dangle against the base of your womanhood. Its weight pulls on your nipples as it continues to hang from them, jerking haphazardly between your slick legs.

Your grip slackens on one of the swing’s straps as you jerk forward from the force of the expulsion. Before inertia can send you tumbling, you’re yanked back in the same instant. Frost’s firm hand captures your arm, keeping you tightly bound against his chest.

Your head springs back, your spine curving with the force of your elimination. And then, like a seesaw, it falls forward to view the mess below you. The mess you made.

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