She peeled off one black leather glove slowly—deliberately—teeth catching the fingertip and tugging until it slid free with a soft snap.
The bare skin of her hand felt electric when it wrapped around my cock—hot, slightly trembling, fingers curling tight around the base. She gave one long, slow pull upward—milking a thick rope of pre-cum from the slit—then dragged me down hard, aligning the swollen head perfectly with her entrance.
"You might be right…" she murmured, voice cracking with her own barely-contained need.
Then she sank—just the tip.
The first inch breached her in a slow, torturous glide. Her pussy lips parted around the head with a wet schlick, clinging greedily to the corona as the tight ring of muscle fluttered against it. She stopped there—completely still—leaving only the head buried inside her, the rest of my cock exposed and throbbing in the cool air.
The itch was immediate, unbearable.
