Ross' hips kept a steady, punishing rhythm, each thrust drawing out new heights of pleasure.
Her cries echoed across the room, mingling with the wet, obscene sounds of their coupling.
Sarah's hands clawed at his back, her nails digging into his skin, desperate for more contact, more connection, more sensation.
She was drowning in him, completely overtaken, utterly dependent on every movement, every kiss, every bite.
Her body trembled uncontrollably, her vision blurred as waves of orgasm followed one another without pause, leaving her gasping, panting, and soaked with her own and his essence.
Ross's mastery over her body was absolute, every calculated motion designed to make her lose herself entirely in the pleasure only he could provide.
By the time he finally slowed, both of them were drenched, sticky, and breathing heavily, their bodies glistening with sweat and their juices mingled in a warm, intimate mess.
But even then, the heat lingered, the ache of wanting more still coursing through her, the memory of each bite, thrust, and kiss seared into her skin.
Ross showed no mercy as he continued his relentless assault, pounding Sarah's body with a rhythm that kept her completely off balance.
Sometimes his thrusts were shallow, grinding right against her swollen entrance and teasing her until she cried out in frustration.
Then, without warning, he would slam deep inside her, burying every thick inch of his cock to the very hilt.
The force made the heavy table creak and rock beneath them, as if it might give way at any moment under the violence of his movements.
Sarah's nails dug into the wood, her knuckles white as she tried to steady herself, but there was no escape.
Ross was in total control. His unpredictability drove her insane.
Each time she thought she could adjust, he changed his rhythm—slower, deeper, harder, faster—keeping her body guessing, keeping her mind spinning.
"Ahhh—ahhhh! R-Ross!" she cried out, her voice trembling as another deep thrust sent a shock of pleasure up her spine.
The thick girth of his cock stretched her so completely that she could feel every vein, every throbbing pulse, every ounce of his raw power.
The sensation made her toes curl and her back arch helplessly.
She had no control—her body responded to him instinctively, her pussy clamping down, milking him as though begging him to never pull out.
Her breasts bounced wildly with every impact, sweat dripping down her flushed skin, her hair sticking messily to her face.
Her thighs quivered violently, yet still Ross spread them wider, grinding himself deeper into her soft, wet core.
Each thrust knocked the air out of her lungs, leaving her gasping, panting, and moaning in unrestrained ecstasy.
She was going mad. Every stroke was a new kind of torture, a new kind of pleasure.
The rhythm of his cock broke down her thoughts, shattered her resistance, and left her nothing more than a moaning mess.
She lost count of how many times she came.
Her walls clenched and released again and again, each orgasm stronger than the last, until she was trembling uncontrollably beneath him.
Her body gave way first. Her legs shook so violently that she could barely stand, and her arms trembled from holding on to the table.
Still, Ross drove into her, merciless, forcing her body past its limits.
Her pussy was drenched, their juices spilling and splattering with every thrust, soaking the table and dripping onto the floor.
"P-Please... I-I'm coming again!!!" Sarah's broken plea was cut off as another wave of ecstasy crashed through her, stealing her voice and leaving her shuddering violently.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, not from pain, but from the overwhelming force of the pleasure coursing through her.
Ross's hips never stopped moving.
He kept her pinned in place, every thrust claiming her more completely, every stroke making her his.
The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed in the room, mingling with Sarah's ragged moans and the wet squelching of her drenched pussy.
She had been fucked into madness, her mind blank, her body ruined, yet still her cunt clung desperately to him, begging for more even as she whimpered for mercy.
Over and over, Sarah came undone on his cock, her voice raw, her body shaking, her soul utterly consumed by the storm of lust Ross unleashed inside her.
Two hours later, their long and merciless session finally wound to an end.
Sarah lay bonelessly on the leather sofa, her pale skin gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat.
Her hair clung to her flushed cheeks, her chest rose and fell heavily, and her legs were still trembling faintly from the relentless pounding Ross had given her.
Across from her, Ross sat in one of the office chairs, just as naked, his broad chest rising and falling with the calm rhythm of a man perfectly at ease.
He leaned back, eyes closed, and soon drifted into a light doze, the faintest trace of a smirk still resting on his lips.
Another hour passed before Sarah stirred awake. Unlike the last time, when her courage had been dulled by alcohol, today she felt everything with a sharp clarity.
There was no drunken haze to excuse her, no convenient fog to blame.
Every memory of his touch, his strength, the way he had broken her down and made her beg—it all came rushing back with devastating force.
Her body ached everywhere, yet she didn't feel weak. She felt... alive.
Her thighs were sore, her breasts still tender where Ross's mouth and teeth had left their marks, and her pussy throbbed with the dull reminder of how thoroughly he had owned her.
She pressed her knees together instinctively and bit her lip, her face flushing crimson at the memory.
Glancing across the room, she saw Ross again—still sitting there, powerful even in repose.
Ross was really something else.
His arms rested lazily on the chair, his chest bare and glistening faintly in the muted light, his cock hanging heavily between his thighs.