Almost Too Much to Bear

What followed was probably the most sustained and unbridled mashing her privates had ever endured, and she'd been with her fair share of overeager and impatient men.

But the thing wasn't just going to town on her, it was doing something else. Maybe it was something in those secretions but it was actually making her unbelievably horny, but was far too crass to actually get her off. So she spent the next minute screaming and kicking but lusting for something too. When it finished, she didn't miss the overwhelming stimulation it'd assailed her with, but she did want something else down there. As the dizziness subsided, she found herself sensitive enough to feel the subtle prods and contractions of the creature in her pussy. If it could just move without so much blitzing.

As if on cue, the detective hummed a low but chipper tune. It writhed, slowly, and Max closed her eyes. Its ministrations were gentle and soothing.

Then, a sharp note, and a lash on her clit.

"Are you starting to see a pattern here, Miss?" He took something else out of his briefcase: a tiny radio. He flicked it on and the same tune as before played. The creature went back to writhing.

"Tell me where you have hidden the drugs."

Max was shell-shocked, and was now losing all focus to rubbing far to gentle to ever make her orgasm. It was like drifting through a dream.

"I just... want..."

"Mmm?" murmured the detective as he strode around the table. "What do you want?"

"I--" It was running its head against her g-spot. It's skin was tough and lubed. She moaned.

"What?"

"I-- want--"

He reached out to her face, ran his fingers down it, then traced one around her lip.

Her tongue almost came out to meet it. Almost, if it wasn't for a sharp whistle and a jolt from her insides. Awoken from her placid slumber, the old Max was back.

"Fuck you!"

The detective laughed, gave her a swift smack, and spit on her.

Max store up at him in scornful disbelief. For some reason the saliva running down her cheek was more offensive then ordering a bug up her quim. The tunes from the radio took back control of the thing.

This time, she tried to stay vigilant. Clearly, the worm was drugging her. Nothing she could do about that. But the fingering? That she could get a handle on. This was her body, after all. You can't control your hormones but you can choose how to act on them. You just need to focus enough.

You can do this.