Page 56 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

Andrea nods, kissing me, our hands tangling between our legs, directing her wet heat to my dripping cock, massaging each other with our most intimate pleasure zones. I can feel her shudder against me—and the shuddering leads to a straining cry, a push of pussy past its limits.

“Ungh!” Andrea screams out a desperate noise—and my tip slots inside of her, forced in by gravity and helped along by an orgasm.

Speaking of which—Andrea’s spasming walls grip and flutter on me, and her eyes roll back. “Gordon, Gordon, ohhh, oh God, that’s so good. So fucking good,” Andrea sits on top of me and rocks.

The sight of her with her eyes closed, face slack with pleasure, breasts swaying, and hair tumbling loose would be enough to make any man hard.

Any man come.

“Oh, no,” I whisper when I feel the pressure inside of me breaking free.

You bragged about stamina, I think as my cock takes charge and completely blows my reputation—and just plain blows.

“Are you coming?” Andrea gasps.

“I’m so sorry,” I half-whimper.

“Must be really good, huh?”

“I’ve never... What are you doing?”

Andrea licks her lips, winks, and keeps riding my cock as it fills her, moaning as her own orgasm ripples through her. “This is the perfect lube,” she whispers, continuing to rock on my hardness, making obscene squelching noises, her pussy filled with my cum, and her walls wrapped tightly around me.

More and more of me.

“Move with me,” she urges. “Your cum is making it easier to take more of you. You’re still hard, too.”

“Watching you makes me hard. Instantly hard,” I explain. “And as far as I know, some males need rest time in between encounters. I don’t know if I do or not. My guess is—” I swallow as Andrea leans back, sits down hard, and shows me her pink pussy spread around thick green inches, swallowing more now. “That I’ll last longer this time.” At least a little longer...

Her walls fight me at first, but the cum I just produced makes everything so wet and slippery. Her pussy sinks down and devours inch after inch, stopping halfway down my cock.

My Andrea’s face is contorted, real, and vulnerable, no veneer of politeness or poise. Her hands grip my forearms as I hold her while she bounces, chanting, “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh fuck!” A little babble of unfettered, real pleasure that comes with scrunched-up eyebrows and bright, sweating cheeks.

My God. She is so beautiful. So real. I’m dreaming, but this is real. Just watching her would be enough of a high for me, but my body is the cause of her pleasure, and hers is the cause of mine.

I don’t know if I can survive this. My heart is racing, and my hips start to meet hers. I’m losing track of the rhythm, losing track of how hard I should go. “Andrea,” I rasp, grabbing her waist.

“Gordon. My Gordon. This is... This is so good. Is it good?” Her voice is a frantic gasp.

I didn’t know anything could feel this good. This is better than her mouth. This is... Well, I shouldn’t admit it, but if this is how succubi feel, I understand why it’s hard to reform.

Andrea is mine. Andrea loves me. We could do this often. Every month. Every week. Every day.

My head spins, and I have to stop thinking. Just feel. Listen.

Creamy, wet sounds. Squeezing, clamping walls. Her hot skin sliding and slapping against mine.

Me. Inside of her. Trusted enough to be loved and let in.

“Gordon!” Andrea’s long, whimpering wail takes me by surprise. One second, she’s riding, and the next, she’s splayed out on my chest.

She came. Again.

My ego and cock swell. “Am I doing good?” I check, even though I’m almost certain I am.

Andrea nods. “Best. Sex. Ever.”

“Ever?”