Evilangel
Sabien DeMonia, Angelo Godshack, Charlie Dean Pic(s)
The room was a sanctuary of shadows, the only light a low, golden glow that caressed the curve of her spine as she arched, a silent offering to the two forms that worshipped her with their presence. One man knelt before her, his hands a gentle but firm anchor on her hips, his mouth tracing a path of fire along her inner thigh that made her gasp and clutch at the sheets. Behind her, another pressed close, his chest a warm wall agat her back, his breath a hot whisper agat her neck that promised a delicious, filling pressure. She felt the first slow, deliberate breach at her rear entrance, a stretching fullness that was both an invasion and a welcome home, making her cry out as her body yielded. Simultaneously, the man in front guided himself into her wet, waiting heat, the dual sensation of being filled so completely stealing the very air from her lungs. They began to move in a perfect, primal rhythm, one retreating as the other advanced, creating a relentless tide of pleasure that left her utterly possessed. Every nerve ending sang, her world narrowing to the exquisite friction and the deep, groaning sounds of the men lost in her. She was the center of a storm of sensation, a vessel of pure ecstasy, stretched and claimed in a way that felt profoundly, shockingly right. A final, shared thrust sent her shattering over the edge, a raw, keening sound torn from her throat as waves of release crashed through her trembling form.
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