He pressed the cockhead against her anal.
Slow.
Not the aggressive, immediate plunge of the shower or the highway. This was something else — deliberate, measured, the specific patience of a man who intended to take his time because he had decided to.
The tip pressed inward.
Her ring stretched around it with a burning, specific resistance that she felt from her tailbone to her lower abdomen.
"'Wait'—" Her voice had lost its composure entirely. "'Wait'—it's too—'slowly'—please—at least—"
He went slower.
Which was somehow worse.
The head pushing millimetre by millimetre past her clenching ring, the stretch building in slow, continuous increments that gave her body no opportunity to adjust before the next fraction arrived.
"AAANHGH~!! 'Slowly'~!! HIIEEK~!! Too—it's—'stop' or go faster—just don't—OUNGH~!!"
He went slower still.
'He is going to split me open at a speed that lets me feel every second of it.' 'This is deliberate.' 'He is doing this deliberately.'
