Another scream rips itself from my raw throat, my eyes slamming shut against the piling, cumulative pain.
My latest answer, like all the ones before it, voices both my victory and defeat, but the accompanying blow is especially hard this time, seemingly more punishing than all the others combined.
I try—and fail—to collect myself, swallowing and trying to breathe normally even though I feel like I’m on the verge of hyperventilating from how close he is, his fingers resuming their movements on my bare hip, the fact that my entire lower body is naked, unveiled and open for him to see in spite of the darkness surrounding us.
I inhale his crisp, spicy scent, breathing him in involuntarily, and I feel my treacherous pussy twitch and pulse from the combination of sensations, becoming more and more restless, as if it’s asking for more of what happened earlier.
In horror, I realize that my hips just moved without my permission, before I can even think about it or stop myself, my body seeking more of the delicious friction his fingers are teasing me with. He doesn’t say anything, and if he noticed, he doesn’t give it away. But I’m sure he did. He’s too observant and assertive not to. I steel myself against him, against the sensations his fingers are eliciting between my thighs.