Who Can Last The Longest

Sarah watches Artemis lay back, already half hard, and grins like she just stole something. She climbs on slow, drags her pussy over the head of his cock a couple times—never taking him in, just letting all that wetness coat him. “You’re not cumming till I say,” she tells him, sweet as poison. Then she sinks down anyway, slick and hot, and fucks him lazy for a minute just to feel how deep she can grind before his hips jerk. She leans in, tits in his face, rides the top half of his dick and talks the whole time—calls him her favorite fucktoy, laughs when he swears he’s close. Every time he’s right on the edge she lifts off, leaves him throbbing, then drops back down to smother him in that slow, dripping heat again. She does that three, four times, pussy clenching every time he gasps, chasing her own nut while she edges the hell out of his. When she finally lets herself come she slams down hard and stays there, walls fluttering, grinding circles on his cock until the slick drip of her orgasm smears between their thighs. Only then does she smirk, strokes his face like he’s her pet, and murmurs, “See? Told you I could make you last.”