The second April walked in, I knew exactly what I wanted — her throat. No foreplay, no cuddling, no fake sweet talk. Just her blindfolded, on her knees, with my **** shoved so far down her throat she couldn’t breathe.
That mask went over her head before she could say a word. I pulled my **** out, slapped it against her lips, and she opened like the good little throat slave she is. No warm-up — straight to deep throat. Instant gagging. Instant slobber. Then… Thick, sour strings of it dripping down my shaft as she tried to swallow around my ****.
And I didn’t stop.
Kept ******* her face harder. One hand on her hair, the other gripping the back of her neck — keeping her right where I wanted her. Her body convulsed, her nose flared, tears ran down her cheeks under the mask. She was drowning on my **** and taking it like she was born for this.
And I stayed there — pistoning in and out of her throat — until my ***** tightened. That deep, animalistic urge took over. I held her head still, buried myself to the root, and pulsed. Shot after shot of thick *** flooded her windpipe. I came so deep she couldn’t spit it out, couldn’t cough it up — just swallowed it, choked on it, lived it.
When I finally pulled out, her mouth hung open, drool and spit and *** sliding down her chin. Still blindfolded. Still kneeling.
Still mine.
Want to see the full breakdown of how I train a throat to take every inch and every drop?
