She came.
Her anal clenching around him in the helpless, rapid, crushing pulse of a body doing the only thing it had left to do, her thighs shaking so badly she nearly fell, only his grip in her hair and his arm around her waist keeping her in the squat position.
He drove through it.
Through her orgasm. Through her shaking. Through the desperate, broken sound of her continuing to cry out even after the peak because his hips didn't stop and her body didn't stop and the morning didn't stop.
He pulled out.
The sound of the withdrawal was the sound of her anal releasing — reluctant, slow, the muscle having been educated over the course of the night into a form of accommodation that it didn't snap back from instantly.
She made the sound.
"Nnh~—"
Her body went forward.
