I pulled out, the wet suction noise loud and obscene in the quiet room, a testament to how thoroughly I had stretched her. Belladonna gasped, her chest heaving, her skin flushed a deep, rosy hue that clashed beautifully with the dark velvet of the chair. She looked wrecked, her hair plastered to her forehead, her eyes unfocused, but I wasn't letting her rest. Not yet.
I grabbed her left ankle, my grip firm, and lifted it high. I hooked her leg over my shoulder, pressing her calf against my neck.
"Flexible," I noted, my voice rough as I admired the severe angle. "Let's see just how deep we can go."
With one leg hooked over the high arm of the chair and the other pulled straight up by my shoulder, she was splayed wide open, her most vulnerable parts displayed for my consumption. The geometry of it was brutal; it aligned her pelvis perfectly to take every inch I had to offer.
I didn't hesitate. I drove back in.
