Not for long

Jameson pushed himself up on shaky arms, wiped the lube off his chin with the back of his wrist, and glared at the dark gap under the bed.

“Yeah, laugh it up,” he muttered. “Hide all you want. I know exactly where you are.”

He seized the mattress with both hands and heaved. The entire bed lurched sideways with a screech of wood on hardwood. Dust exploded outward. The toy was jammed against the far wall, cheeks flattened, both entrances clenched so tight they looked almost sealed.

“There you are.”

He dropped to his knees and reached in, fingers splayed. The toy tried one last frantic hump (fop-fop-fop), scooting a pathetic inch deeper, but it had nowhere left to go. Jameson’s hand clamped around one thick cheek like a vise.

“End of the line.”

It went berserk.

The whole torso bucked and twisted, trying to drill itself straight through the wall. The inner tunnels rippled desperately (he felt the frantic milking waves through the silicone) while the outer lips dragged across the floorboards, leaving frantic wet streaks.

Jameson just laughed, low and rough. “Nice try.”

He dragged it out into the open. It fought every inch, cheeks slapping the floor, pussy and ass gaping in useless fury. When it was finally clear of the bed he flipped it over and straddled it right there on the carpet, knees pinning the plush hips.

The toy thrashed beneath him, cheeks smacking his thighs, labia fluttering like it still thought it had a chance.

Jameson leaned down until his lips almost brushed the molded clit.

“Listen close,” he growled. “You’re done running. And since you like squirting so much…”

He reached for the nightstand, snatched the fresh bottle of thick, ultra-slick gel lube (the kind that never drips, never dries, just clings like warm honey), and cracked the seal.

The toy went perfectly still, as if it understood exactly what was coming.

Jameson squeezed a fat, glistening ribbon straight into the vaginal entrance. It oozed inside, slow and heavy, coating every ridge and pocket. He worked it deeper with two fingers, then loaded the tighter hole just as generously. The silicone warmed greedily, swallowing it all.

When he lined himself up again, the toy made one final, **** twist. Jameson simply leaned his weight forward and sank in to the hilt in a single, filthy glide.

The difference was obscene. No friction, no escape, just a hot, syrupy grip that felt like sliding into molten silk. Every tiny shift made thick, wet sounds that filled the room.

Jameson exhaled through his teeth, hips already rolling slow and deep.

“There we go. No more tricks. No more water pistols. Just you, me, and about a pint of this shit.”

Under him the toy shuddered, cheeks quivering against his thighs, completely filled, completely pinned.

He leaned in again, voice low and filthy.

“Try running now, little bastard. I fucking dare you.”