Fuck this ass hard and cum inside the catfish

You plunge into him. It's tight. Resistant. Ricky grunts, a muffled, pathetic sound into the mattress. You don't care. You're not fucking him. You're fucking the idea of her. You're fucking the validation she gave you. You're fucking the humiliation she twisted into a promise. Your hips piston, a mindless, primal rhythm. The hotel room fades away. The only things that exist are the slick heat, the creak of the bed frame, and the image in your mind: Sabrina, underneath you, taking it.

The panties, her panties, are right there. You grab them, balling the lace in your fist. You press them to your nose one last time, inhaling the ghost of her perfume as you drive into the body beneath you. The combination of the sensory input, the tight grip of Ricky's ass, the phantom scent of Sabrina is overwhelming. Your gooner brain, already pushed to its absolute limit, finally shorts out for good.

"Fuck... take it... take it," you snarl, the words tearing out of your throat. You're not talking to Ricky. You're talking to her. To the fantasy.

You cum. It's a violent, shuddering release. Your whole body tenses, and you empty yourself into him. For a moment, there is nothing but a white-hot, blissful void. The dopamine flood is absolute. It's the best nut of your life.

Then, just as quickly, it's over. You pull out. A wave of… something… crashes over you. Shame? Revulsion? Regret? It’s a toxic cocktail of all three. Reality comes rushing back in. The smell of sweat and cheap pizza. The sight of Ricky, crumpled on the bed, your cum leaking out of him.

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