Over The Edge II : The Ultimate Jerk Off Challenge

July 5, 2020 at nine o'clock eastern means nine hard times here in my rundown east-side motel, clock ticking, pulse hammering. She strips slow then faster once the door clicks shut, sheds her sundress with a careless flick and her skin catches the neon bleed like glass in a dirty window. I pull her close, hard, let my hands do what they've wanted all night: one palm sliding down to grab her ass while the other cups the heat between her thighs, feeling how slick she already is. She laughs low in her throat, the kind of laugh that dares you to go harder. I do. Her tongue traces the edge of my ear while she works my belt open one-handed, impatient, and when her fingers wrap around me I hiss through my teeth. Naked, we hit the bed like we've got a debt to settle with each other, legs tangling, mouths crashing, hips grinding. She rolls on top first, straddles me, sinks down slow and steady until every inch disappears inside her. I grab her waist, force the rhythm rougher, sweat already clinging to us both. The slick sound of her riding me fills the little room along with the broken hum of the AC. She leans forward, tits brushing my chest, mouth hot against mine, and every time she lifts and drops she squeezes just to watch me bite back a moan. Later I flip her quick, bend her over the edge of the mattress, hands braced, head turned so I can watch her face as I drive into her. Her thighs tremble, knuckles whiten on the sheets, but her voice stays low and filthy, telling me faster, telling me harder, telling me don't you fucking stop. I don't.