Her glazed gaze fell lower, to her most intimate center. It was visibly swollen, plump, and deeply raw, the clear sight of her well-used folds making her heart pound like a trapped bird. Highly hesitant, she parted the slick, swollen petals with trembling fingers, hissing sharply at the intense, overwhelming sensitivity.
'So completely empty now.' The heavy memory of his girth surged violently back—hot, wildly pulsing, stretching her so wide, tearing away her virginity in a fevered, bloody rush that still felt like a chaotic, erotic dream. Her fingers lightly grazed her swollen, ultra-sensitive rosebud, and she whispered,
"Am I still… me?" The heavy question hung in the steam, her body a total paradox of profound loss and wild awakening, incredibly sore yet constantly electric.
