Focus entirely on getting Decker's cock as deep down your throat as possible — you want to feel that knot against your lips.

5 Breedmore Lane, Maplewood Suburbs, at 12:49 AM on Saturday November 1, 2024

I hollow my cheeks and push forward with everything I have.

Decker's cock stretches my throat in a way that makes my eyes stream, my jaw screaming at the hinge, my neck bulging visibly with the obscene outline of his shaft. I can feel every vein, every ridge, every pulse of his heartbeat through the taut flesh of my esophagus. The ghost-cum sensitivity transforms the pain into something else — not pleasure exactly, but a white-hot electrical current that shoots from my throat straight down through my chest and into my cunt, making it clench and spasm around nothing.

Inch after inch disappears. Six. Seven. Eight. My throat convulses around him, trying to reject the intrusion, but I will my body to accept it. Drool pours from the corners of my stretched mouth in thick ropes, coating his shaft, dripping down his knot. I can feel it now — that massive swollen bulge pressing against my lower lip, hot as a furnace, the skin stretched drum-tight and pulsing. I push harder, tilting my head, trying to force my jaw wider, and the knot almost slips past — the widest part catches on my teeth and I feel my jaw creak dangerously.

"Easy," Decker growls above me, his massive hand cradling my skull. "Don't break that pretty mouth. We need it later."

I can't get the knot inside. It's simply too large — wider than my face could accommodate. But I press my lips against it, kissing the taut skin, running my tongue along the ridge where knot meets shaft, and Decker's whole body shudders. A low, rumbling growl builds in his chest — not human, not even close. His claws extend slightly, pricking against my scalp.

"She's got nine inches down," Jax says from somewhere to my left, his voice thick with arousal. "Look at her fucking throat. You can see the shape of him."

He's right. I can feel it — the bulge of his cock distending my neck, visible to everyone in the room. My throat works around him involuntarily, swallowing reflexively, and the constriction makes Decker buck his hips forward. The head of his cock pushes even deeper and I gag hard, tears streaming, snot running, but I don't pull back. I can't pull back. The ghost-cum has turned my throat into an erogenous zone and every convulsion, every retch, sends shockwaves of heat directly to my clit.

"Holy shit," someone breathes — Soren, I think. "She's getting off on it. Look at her thighs."

He's right. My legs are shaking, my pussy dripping a steady stream of mixed cum and arousal onto the carpet beneath me. Someone's fingers are still pumping in and out of me from behind — two of them now, thick and clawed, curling against my front wall — and the dual sensation of being filled from both ends is making my vision blur.

Decker's hand tightens in my hair. His hips roll forward in a slow, controlled thrust, fucking my throat with deliberate strokes that push his knot flush against my lips with each forward motion. The pressure is immense — that grapefruit-sized bulge grinding against my mouth, radiating heat like a brand. Pre-cum leaks directly into my stomach, thick and scalding hot, with a wild metallic taste.

"That's enough throat," Trent commands. "Decker. Put her on the couch. Time to knot that pussy."

Decker withdraws with a wet, obscene sound — eleven inches of glistening cock sliding from my ravaged throat, leaving me gasping, drooling, my jaw aching and barely able to close. He lifts me like I weigh nothing — one massive hand under each armpit, depositing me face-up on the frat house couch. My legs fall open automatically, my cum-glazed pussy exposed and glistening, my small breasts heaving as I suck in desperate breaths.

Decker positions himself between my thighs. The head of his cock — still slick with my spit — presses against my entrance. He's so big that even the tip stretches me wider than anything tonight. His amber eyes meet mine, and there's something almost gentle in them — a predator's patience.

"Last chance to say no, bunny," he rumbles.

I wrap my legs around his massive waist and pull him forward.