Fuck your throat while you rub yourself through Sabrina's panties

Ricky didn't wait for permission. His hand tangled in your hair, not gently, and he guided your head forward. The smell of him, unwashed and musky, filled your nostrils. His other hand positioned his cock, nudging it against your tightly-closed lips.

"Open up, Sabrina," he commanded, using the name like a weapon. "It's showtime."

Your jaw unclenched. It was surrender. The head of his cock pushed past your lips, salty and fleshy. You had no idea what you were doing. You just tried to breathe through your nose as he began to move, shallow thrusts at first, then deeper, hitting the back of your throat. You gagged, your eyes watering, but he didn't stop. His grip on your hair tightened, holding you in place.

"Look at you," he grunted, looking down at the sight of your head bobbing in his lap. "All dressed up and on your knees. You're a natural."

Through the haze of humiliation and the physical discomfort, a new sensation asserted itself. Your own cock, trapped and straining against the lace of the panties, was throbbing with a desperate need. The friction of the delicate fabric as you shifted on your knees was maddening. Your hands, which had been limp at your sides, rose on their own accord. One rested on Ricky's thigh for balance, while the other slid down your stomach.

Your fingers found the outline of your erection through the panties. The contact was electric. You began to rub yourself, the lace providing a tantalizing, teasing friction that was worlds away from the direct grip you were used to. You were rubbing yourself through a celebrity's stolen panties while a stranger fucked your throat. The thought was so depraved, so far beyond anything you had ever fantasized about, that it sent a jolt of pure, uncut dopamine straight to your brain.

Ricky bark with laughter. "Fuck.... Fingering and rubbing yourself like a real slut aren't you. That so hot."

He began to thrust faster, harder. Your eyes were squeezed shut, but you could still hear the sounds from the TV, the synthetic moans and slick slapping sounds of the porno providing a soundtrack to your degradation. You rubbed yourself faster, matching the frantic rhythm of the face-fucking. You were teetering on the edge, a familiar precipice, but the fall felt different this time. It wasn't just pleasure. It was a complete and total annihilation of your old self.

You could feel him tensing, his rhythm becoming erratic. He was close. And so were you. The pressure building in your balls was unbearable. The world narrowed to the cock in your mouth, the lace on your dick, and the rising tide of an orgasm that promised to either destroy you or remake you entirely.

https://www.patreon.com/JasonMaster