Her Coercive Tone, 20: Sweet Constrictions

Marco felt as though having his world upended should have been more dramatic, like he should be dry-heaving or his vision should be blurred or crossed. It was nothing like that, having gravity swivel around him, finding himself lying on his front and then lying on his back. Maybe that’s all that it was, as undramatic as rolling over on a couch, slowly as unconscious thoughts rewriting themselves.

In fact, the mechanics of it were that two huge walls of hot, soft, heavy flesh pinched him in a full-body hug, like a building collapsing upon you but sexier. These two walls held him tightly as he tried, hampered by limited mobility, to repeatedly stab a huge, puckering anus with his stiffened cock, while his entire face swam in the slick, pink folds ringing the hot portal deep into the gigantic woman’s hips. Her buttocks squeezed him and held him fast as the massive woman turned in space—lying on her back now, Marco supposed—and now the sweet, sticky lubrication flowed down and coated his face, shoulders, and chest, and tried to seep everywhere else on and around him. The back of his head brushed against some supportive netting… her underwear, of course. Resting his head in the crotch of Dorris’s panties, he stared up at the slope of her sexuality writhing above him.

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