He drags me into the living room by my hair, forcing me onto my knees on the carpet. He doesn’t give me a second to recover. He grabs my throat, squeezing just enough to make me gasp, and shoves his cock into my mouth. I gag as he forces himself deep, hitting the back of my throat over and over. He uses my head like a punching bag, his hips snapping forward with aggressive force, treating my mouth like a sleeve.
When he’s bored of my throat, he flips me over and pins my wrists above my head with one hand. He spreads my legs wide, exposing my dripping pussy to the air. He doesn’t use any lubricant; he just slams back in, the friction searing. He’s relentless, his thrusts violent and shallow, focusing on the entrance until I’m sobbing. He laughs, a low, guttural sound, as he watches my tits bounce with every impact. He owns every hole in my body, and he reminds me of it with every bone-deep shove





