Chapter 11: Full-Court Press

-- NOVEMBER 2007 --

“Right pick, right pick!” I hollered.

I actually didn’t need to shout the warning, because even while guarding her “man”, Dawn had already been shooting glances in both directions to look for the screen she knew would eventually come. By the time I’d said it, Dawn had already taken a step forward to go over the top of the screen, just as I’d instructed her to do.

The strategy of setting a screen is Basketball 101, as are the methods of defending it. If Dawn were to go “under” the screen, she would find herself with a human body between her and the ball-handler, leaving them with an open jump shot. If one’s opponent isn’t a very good shooter, this is an acceptable strategy, practically daring the opponent to shoot a low-percentage long-range jumper rather than give up a defensive position between them and the hoop. But our opponents WERE very good shooters, and the few times we’d left them with open 3-pointers, they’d burned us good. So instead, Dawn knew to go “over” the screen.

By going “over”, Dawn kept herself close to her opponent; but when the ball-handler dribbled around the screen and into the lane, she found herself in a trail position, no longer between the ball-handler and the hoop. Since I had been the one defending the screener, it was now my job to “switch” my assignment and guard the ball-handler coming into the lane. And with my three-inch height advantage and an overall wingspan advantage as well, I felt pretty confident in my ability to block or alter any of my opponent’s layup attempts.

Of course, Eden knew I stood a good chance to block any of her layup attempts, so she knew to look for her twin sister to leave her screening position and cut to the basket. That was the “roll” part of the “pick-and-roll”. Emma set the pick to free up Eden’s drive, and once I stopped defending her and switched to Eden instead, Emma became the “open man”.

Of course, I knew that Eden knew I stood a good chance to block her, and I knew that Emma would be looking for a pass. And since I was anticipating it, I set my feet and prepared to intercept the ball before it got there.

Timing was everything, as Eden would need to accurately execute the pass in a narrow window of space AFTER I switched defensive assignments but quickly enough for Emma to still have room to catch it and make a layup of her own. Making things more difficult, I took a step forward to tighten the already narrow window so that the right-handed dribbling Eden would have a harder time passing the ball across her body to her cutting twin.

Eden’s eyes darted to the narrow gap. Realizing that a cross-body pass might get cut off, she picked up her dribble and shot her right hand backwards, executing a behind-the-back pass which would give her a little more room, if she could do it accurately. But I was already in motion, my whole body moving to cut it off with arm extended to block the pass...

... only the ball wasn’t there. Somehow, Eden never let go of the ball. Her right arm moved forward again, palm underneath the ball as she took one final step forward with her left foot. Like a sliding door at the grocery store, I’d literally moved myself right out of her way, leaving Eden with a wide-open path to finish an easy layup, and the ball fell neatly through the hoop.

“WOOO!!!”

“You go girl!”

“Dayyyyum!!!”

The gymnasium around us erupted with cheers loud enough that you might have thought Cal Berkeley had just won a Final Four game. But this was no tournament, we weren’t playing in a true arena, and there weren’t THAT many people around us. On the other hand, we DID have an actual audience watching the six of us play a simple half-court Friday night game, something that was quite unusual in and of itself.

Let’s face it: not very many women play pick-up basketball. Head into any membership gym in the country. While you’ll probably find a good number of beautiful young women walking around in tight spandex, most of them will be on the treadmills and ellipticals, and maybe a few will be lifting weights, but you won’t find many girls on the basketball court.

Dawn and DJ’s presence on the court had turned some heads in the past, and guys might glance over a few times to watch them bend and squat and dribble around. Some of them might even get envious when the girls tried to post up, backing their butts into our crotches while working into position. But our group had never drawn an actual crowd before.

Not until tonight.

That’s because there were more than two girls on the court tonight. Eden and Emma had asked to join us, and I should have known something was up from the evil little grins they gave each other when I agreed. The two little rugrats were good, and when I figured that out, Eden bopped me on the forehead and asked, “Didn’t you know we played in our Youth Basketball League?”

“I knew you ran around the court with a bunch of other 10-year-olds, double-dribbling and swarming the ball with no sense of strategy or defense.”

Emma trapped the ball against her jutting hip and smirked at me. “We’re not 10-year-olds anymore.”

They really weren’t. Tall, graceful, and athletic: the twins were naturals. There were a lot of things I hadn’t paid much attention to back home over the last few years while occupied with my own dramas at college.

For the last several weeks, Dawn and DJ playing two-on-two with me and Bert made it look like we were a pair of romantic couples just having a good time. But the additional two young babes meant that FOUR hotties were now on the court wearing spandex workout clothes accompanied by only two dudes, and the twins were clad only in sports bras and short shorts. One guy whistled his buddy over to watch us play. Two more guys walked over soon after. And the crowd just sort of snowballed from there. Eventually, another dozen people left the workout area and came through the doors onto the court just to see what all the fuss was about.

The twins didn’t want to split up, and DJ had more fun playing against me than with me, so it was the three of them against me, Dawn, and Bert. We guys had a size and strength advantage, and we won the first game handily. The crowd had started to form, and I didn’t want to look like I was taking advantage of the girls, so I sort of took it easy and the all-girl team won the next game when Eden swished a 3-pointer from the top of the key.

That’s when things got interesting. A group of three guys standing behind the hoop raised their hands and called, “We got next.” At first, I tried to explain that we just wanted to play our own game, and that there were available half-courts for them to play elsewhere. But the three of them insisted that open gym rules meant that a waiting team could call “next”, and after some exasperated looks among the six of us, DJ finally tossed them the ball and said, “Bring it on.”

That game lasted all of three minutes. Emma squawked the first time a guy copped a feel of her ass. DJ slapped away the wandering hand of another guy and waggled her finger in his face in warning. Eden wasn’t so diplomatic. She drove the lane and spun around to execute a left-handed layup; but when her defender simply groped her ass as she spun around and didn’t even try to block the shot, she hauled off and bitch-slapped him across the face.

The guy didn’t try to fight back, although his nostrils flared and he took a menacing step toward her. The tension in the room got thick enough that I started wondering if I’d need to put my Krav Maga lessons to use or something. Instead, all it took was Eden walking up until her nose was inches away from his, and with narrowed eyes she growled, “Get the fuck off the court.”

At first, the guy looked ready to stand his ground, perhaps even argue that he was just trying to play defense or something, but the rest of the crowd closed in around them, with nearly every angry look directed straight at him. Outnumbered and losing the war of public opinion, the guy grabbed his buddies and disappeared. The three of them were still gym members and we would see them there the future, but none of them ever bothered us again.

Meanwhile, Dawn suggested that we call it an early night and head home, but the guys around us insisted that they’d leave us alone and let us play our game. True to their word, nobody else called “next” and they let us play amongst ourselves, but they didn’t actually leave us alone, either. Most of them stayed and watched. I even heard someone in the crowd mutter, “This is better than porn.”

I don’t really see how four non-naked girls playing basketball is better than porn, but to each his own. Perhaps it was the beauty of our four girls. Perhaps my active sex life made me a little jaded to something as mundane as a coed basketball game. I just hoped the guy didn’t have his hand down his shorts when he said it.

Anyways, we decided to play one last game to 21, ones and twos. I figured it would take at least a half-hour to finish, and even if someone else called “next”, we’d be tired and ready to leave anyway.

I also figured a long game would cause our crowd to dissipate a little, but it didn’t work out that way. If anything, the crowd only grew the longer we played and got closer and closer to 21. Half-court games mean “winner’s ball”. You make it, you take it, and sometimes one team or the other will get on a hot streak and score bucket after bucket without their opponents even getting a possession. My team took an early 7-2 lead, but then Eden and Emma took advantage of the way we kept going under their screens, and they made four straight 3-pointers, each one drawing a roar from the crowd even louder than the last, to go up 10-7.

We changed our defense to challenge their threes and always made sure either Bert or I was in the lane for rim protection. It took more effort, but we shut the girls down, and we tied it up at 10.

The three girls then took to double-teaming me or Bert whenever we had the ball, leaving Dawn open and inviting her to take long-range jumpers rather than let one of us guys have anything in close. Dawn rewarded their tactic by bricking her next four shots, and the girls went up 15-12.

But then Dawn got hot, first hitting an elbow jumper, then a three at the top of the key, and one more three in the corner. We took the lead 17-15 without them even touching the ball, and they finally conceded that they’d have to guard her too.

The next five minutes were rough. Getting down to crunch time, everyone was hustling and sweating and working hard. The twins were the first to decide they’d rather foul us than give away freebies – nothing flagrant or dangerous, but a little cheap nonetheless. Still, there were no free throws and no foul limits either, so we played on, and at the end of the five minutes the score had barely moved, 18-16.

Then DJ executed a perfect drive and kick to Emma, who drained a three. All tied up at 18, and it was basically a race to see who could get three more points first.

With my height, length, and leaping ability, I could basically get off a jumper anytime I wanted to. Tired and desperate to get things over with, I started firing long-range bombs just because I could. But my legs were jelly and my aim was off, so I bricked three in a row. Luckily for me, we still played good defense and Bert was able to put back one of my misses. Then I found Dawn for a layup when the girls double-teamed me, so we were up 20-18.

Game point.

By now, we were surrounded. The crowd was thick enough that they were crowding the baseline, the half-court line, and along the side walls as well. The Golden State Warriors had a game tonight against the Clippers, just the second game of the season, but apparently all these guys would rather watch us play than see Baron Davis, Monta Ellis, and Al Harrington throw up brick after brick after brick.

Dawn set a screen for me, I drove left, and elevated for an 8-foot jumper. I think everyone expected me to go all Kobe in crunch time and try to make the winning shot, so DJ abandoned Dawn, Eden chased me around the screen, and even Emma stepped up from Bert to close the lane. That left Dawn wide open at the free throw line, but I saw an opening to Bert underneath the basket. Rather than shoot the ball, I fired a pass straight at the left side of his head. All he had to do was catch it and lay it in for the easy game-winner...

... except that EVERYBODY expected me to go all Kobe and try to make the winning shot, and by “everybody” I include Bert. He was getting himself into rebound position in case I missed, I’d fired the pass with a lot of heat, and by the time he realized the ball was coming his way, he only had enough time to raise his left hand to protect his face and deflect the ball into the crowd.

Turnover.

Dammit.

Down 18-20, I knew the girls would feed the ball to Eden. She was the best player on their team, even though she was matched up against me, our best defender. Of course, half the point of a screen is to get the defenders to switch, so the instant she got the ball, Emma picked me off and got Bert to switch. But Bert was a pretty good defender too, and his probing hands got Eden to pick up her dribble. She passed it out to DJ, who circled the perimeter and found another screen from Emma, getting me to switch at the same time that she passed the ball back to Emma.

For half a second, we were caught between defenses. I had switched off Emma to hedge on DJ, but Dawn had followed DJ as well. That left DJ double-teamed with Emma all alone on the wing. Emma gathered in DJ’s pass, set her feet, and sent up a high-arching shot that I was sure would knot up the game at 20-all...

... but it rattled out. Seriously, the ball hit the back iron, hit the front iron, hit the backboard, and rolled off the side of the rim once more before dropping out. I breathed a sigh of relief, but unfortunately for my team, Eden had raced in to gather the rebound and quickly banked in a reverse layup before Bert could get to her.

20-19. And the girls still had the ball.

Tired, frustrated, but resolved, I set my feet and went into ball-denial position on Eden. She had the same kind of cocky ego I had, while Emma had taken after Brandi’s more accommodating nature. The point is: I KNEW she wanted the ball, and since we were playing straight-up, a three-pointer would win her team the game. As Emma prepared to inbound the ball, Eden walked me into the paint, as if to get into a good post position; but as soon as Bert checked it, Eden raced back out to the perimeter, hoping to get a little separation from me so she could have the winning shot. Emma’s pass was right on time, and although a good two feet behind the line, Eden still caught it, took a step back, and raised the ball up to shoot a fadeaway jumper.

This far from the bucket, the odds of Eden making the shot were slim. In fact, the odds were much greater that she was trying to get me to bite on a pump fake, so I stayed on my feet and merely raised my hand in front of her. Sure enough, Eden kept the ball and started dribbling around me, but I stood my ground and backed away with her.

Unfortunately, Emma had set a screen right behind me, a screen that my teammate Bert never warned me about. I backed straight into my baby sister and immediately got thrown off-balance. Eden neatly dribbled around us, crossed over Bert right out of his shoes, and headed into the open lane.

Here’s where Eden’s ego got in the way. Had she been looking at anything but the open lane and the basket above, she would have noticed Dawn completely abandon DJ to follow after her. Unguarded, DJ cut hard along the baseline, and a simple pass from Eden would give her teammate an easy tying basket. But Eden only had her eyes on the prize, and she never saw Dawn rise into the air and swat her layup attempt into the crowd.

“Boo-yah!” I crowed with both arms flexed as I ran up to my best friend and gave her a high-five. Dawn blushed with pride.

“It’s okay,” Emma told her frustrated twin sister. “It’s still our ball.”

Eden was a little more cautious with her next possession, driving and probing but never picking up her dribble. She REALLY wanted to win, and rather than put up a well-challenged shot she would dribble back out in search of a better shot. DJ and Emma gave her multiple screens and got us to switch our defense time and again, and she even passed them the ball a few times before they looked around and gave the ball back. One time, I was guarding DJ and thought I saw a glimmer of old fire in her eyes from our own one-on-one battles, but rather than challenge me she passed the ball back to Eden and got reset.

Finally, Eden got Dawn switched onto her, and I watched my baby sister’s eyes sharpen as she realized she had our weakest defender on her. She got DJ to clear out to the corner and bring Bert with her, and she tried to bully her way past Dawn and into the lane. But my best friend stuck right with her, forcing Eden to keep the ball, dribble back out, and gather herself once more.

Rather than let Eden go one-on-one against Dawn again, Emma moved to the top of the key to set her screen.

“Right pick, right pick!” I hollered. Dawn went “over” the pick, I switched onto Eden as she came down the lane, and Eden executed her nifty fake behind-the-back pass and neatly laid it in.

“WOOO!!!”

“You go girl!”

“Dayyyyum!!!”

The gym erupted in cheers. Guys were high-fiving each other in the crowd. The score was 20-20, and the next basket would win.

After all that, what came next was pretty anti-climactic. Eden went into hero-ball mode and while her tired legs elevated her high enough over Dawn to get off her shot, she left it well short and Bert gathered the rebound underneath the basket. DJ and Eden both had crashed down the lane going after the missed basket while I’d honestly been kind of lazy and stayed put where I was just past the free throw line. Once Bert grabbed the rebound, I took two steps back behind the three-point line and Bert threw the ball out to me to clear it. And with no defender within six feet of me, I raised my hands, aimed, and fired.

Swish.

22-20.

Game over, even if we’d been playing win-by-two.

“Aww...” the crowd collectively groaned in disappointment.

“Shoulda let the girls win,” some guy complained behind me, even reaching out the nudge the back of my arm.

I turned and gave him a helpless shrug. “No way could I let myself lose. My girlfriend promised me a blowjob if I won.”

After blinking twice in surprise, the guy popped his eyebrows and gave me an understanding look. “Oh ... well ... in THAT case ... Good job, bro!” And he extended his hand to me for a fist-bump.

I bumped it and turned back to survey the others. Emma was consoling a visibly upset Eden while DJ and Dawn exchanged a congratulatory hug and Bert started making his way toward me.

“Um ... which one is your girlfriend? Or HIS girlfriend for that matter?” the same guy asked me from behind. Leaning in close, he stage-whispered, “More to the point: Are the other two single?”

I just smiled and shook my head.

Per routine, the six of us stopped by Bert and Lynne’s place to unwind and eat. After that, the girls and I made the short walk home, and then split up to change out of our grimy clothes and get cleaned up. Once a long time ago, only once, I’d suggested that we could always shower at the gym. But DJ complained that the gym showers were disgusting, and Dawn reminded me that showering at the gym would mean I’d have to shower without a girl scrubbing my penis for me.

So yeah, we kept going home to shower.

Speaking of girls scrubbing my penis, I found myself in the tub with DJ doing the honors before squatting down and doing the scrubbing with her mouth. She ALMOST got me off, but I pulled her head back and waggled my finger at her, scolding, “Don’t think you’re gonna pay off your bet that easy.”

DJ rolled her eyes and stood up, turning her back to me so that I could lather up my hands with soap and set to cleaning her. I chuckled to myself, thinking about the guy asking about my “girlfriend” who’d promised me a blowjob if I’d won. The bet was a non-bet if you really thought about it, since I knew DJ would end up giving me a blowjob tonight whether or not I won, just like she knew I’d pay up my end of the bet by giving her the 1-2-3-4 tongue-lashing she loved so much whether or not she’d won.

We’d started off with a three-person shower, but it was a tight fit and Dawn had stepped out first to dry off and let DJ do her mouth-scrubbing-penis thing. The elder Evans sister had wrapped a towel around her hair but didn’t bother to put on any clothes as she reclined on DJ’s king-size bed in a seductive pose. “My team won, so I get the 1-2-3-4 treatment first,” Dawn stated smugly.

DJ had likewise wrapped a towel around her head and arched an eyebrow, glanced at me, and folded her arms beneath her naked breasts. “How about you sit on my face so -I- can give you the 1-2-3-4 treatment while he does it to me?”

Dawn immediately shook her head. “No deal. (A) It’s completely different when I’m sitting upright; believe me we’ve tried.”

“Yeah, I know. Me, too,” DJ conceded.

“And (B),” Dawn continued, “I love the way you eat me, Deej, but it’s not the same.”

DJ snorted.

“Lying flat on my back, limbs askew in complete surrender to let him just ... DO me...” Dawn mused dreamily, her eyes unfocused and her chest rising and falling with suddenly deep breaths.

“‘Surrender’, that’s such a great word for it,” DJ sighed. “Such a small, delicate touch but ... unrelenting ... unavoidable ... overwhelmingly incessant until it ... UNGH!”

Dawn cracked a grin. “Shoulda taken the winning shot instead of passing it to Eden.”

“Fine, fine. Stop gloating.” DJ waved her off. Grabbing me by the arm, the younger Evans sister practically flung me at the bed while muttering, “Hurry up and get her off so I can have my turn.”

Dawn shook her head. “Doesn’t work like that. 1-2-3-4 isn’t a fast ‘get-her-off’ kinda thing.”

“Shut up and get started,” DJ growled. “I’ll just be sitting in the chair over here making my fingers disappear. And if that doesn’t cut it I’m liable to head back to the gym to work on my jump shot.”

Dawn giggled. “Yeah, you do that.”

DJ didn’t head back to the gym to work on her jump shot, but she didn’t stay on the chair making her fingers disappear, either. Well, she started on the chair making her fingers disappear, but after listening to her big sister screaming helpless bloody murder for ten minutes, she got off the chair, laid down on the floor, and slid herself backwards until her head tucked between my knees.

See, I had been kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed while giving Dawn the 1-2-3-4 treatment. DJ’s new position allowed her to suck my dick into her mouth and perhaps pay up for losing the bet. Or perhaps she’d gotten to the point where she didn’t give a rat’s ass about the bet and simply would rather make her fingers disappear while also making my cock disappear down her throat.

The problem was: DJ’s blowjob was a serious distraction. The elegant simplicity of the 1-2-3-4 is its metronomic precision, never ending and never changing, either, no matter WHAT Dawn did. She squeezed her thighs around my head until I practically suffocated. She pulled my hair and nearly tore it out by the roots. But while I managed to maintain my unrelenting pace despite those kinds of pain, DJ’s tongue and throat muscles had a way of ... well ... making me lose my rhythm.

So in the end, DJ got what she wanted, not that Dawn had any complaints. Unable to keep my 1-2-3-4 going, I decided to just drive Dawn up the wall and switched to mauling her clit while making MY fingers disappear. Dawn shrieked and came with me chewing on her love button while scratching her G-spot from the inside, and she rolled onto her side in a fetal position while DJ gleefully clambered out from under me and took Dawn’s place on the bed.

The younger Evans girl whined about how I hadn’t personally made her cum since last weekend and only gave me three-and-a-half seconds to catch my breath before grabbing my head behind my ears and yanking me down into her crotch. I stroked her legs and rubbed her tits and tummy until she calmed down enough for me to go to work.

Like Dawn, DJ’s moans started out soft. 1-2-3-4 is very much a slow-build thing, without a whole lot of sensation or stimulation, almost ticklish more than erotic, at least initially.

1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4.

“Mmm...” DJ sighed, sliding her fingers into my hair. “Mmm... “

1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4.

“Yessss ... That’s it...” she sighed, letting her head loll to the side as she groaned and stretched out her limbs.

1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4.

“Oh, yeah ... oh, yeah...”

Four beats per second, I flicked her clit with my tongue. No more, no less. Four beats: 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4.

“So good ... so good ... I missed this!”

1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4.

DJ didn’t thrust her crotch up into my face until two minutes had gone by, but soon after that it became a regular thing. I wrapped my arms under her thighs and interlaced my fingers together on top of her abdomen just beneath her belly button, holding her down as I continued.

1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4.

DJ got her first starter orgasm, clenching up tight and straining her legs against my arms. She quivered and got a second aftershock climax before the first one had even stopped. And eight beats after that, she got a third.

“Oh, FUCK!” DJ shouted.

1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4.

The orgasms always crescendoed. Each beat was like a tiny LEGO brick, small and insignificant alone. But when stacked on top of another brick, and another brick, and another brick, always getting higher and never, ever getting shorter, DJ’s pleasure grew and grew and GREW. It took a while to get there – it ALWAYS took a while to get there – but eventually she started crying, drumming her heels on my back, and spastically flailing her limbs left and right.

1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4.

“FUUUUCK! FUUUUCK! BENNN! STOPPP!!! FUUUUUCK!!!!“

1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4.

“ENOUGH! ENOUGH! STOP-FUUUUUCK!!! FUUUUUCK!!! FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!

Under normal circumstances, the word “stop” was usually enough to get me to cease and desist immediately. But these weren’t normal circumstances and I knew DJ didn’t actually want me to stop. Dawn had screamed the same word many times only ten minutes before, and she hadn’t really wanted me to stop, either. I only did so because DJ’s blowjob had proven too distracting.

1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4.

This was the “unrelenting” part of it. Unavoidable. Overwhelmingly incessant until she couldn’t take it anymore.

Actually, that wasn’t completely true. I was perfectly happy to keep on going WELL past the point where SHE couldn’t take it anymore. What more often happened was that we eventually got to the point where -I- couldn’t take it anymore, and after first spending so much time on Dawn and now spending all this time on DJ, well, I was almost there.

1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4.

At least my dick had gotten a little attention along the way, when DJ gave me that blowjob at the end of Dawn’s session. Otherwise there was no way I would have lasted as long as I had, but still my ego wanted me to hold out even longer.

1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4.

“FUUUUUCK!!! FUUUUUCK!!! FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!

Suddenly, I had to close my eyes against a spray of hot, sweet-smelling liquid. DJ rarely squirted, but it had happened a few times before. Her butt thrust off the bed enough to get some air. Her eyes rolled up into her head. And one more time, she screamed with unholy power, “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!

Now, dammit, NOW!

Having reached the point where -I- couldn’t take it anymore, I yanked DJ’s legs apart and pushed my hands down on the mattress to vault myself up onto my feet. Grabbing hold of my throbbing dick, I pushed the head into her still-spasming slit and LUNGED, burying myself to the hilt before rapidly retracting and LUNGING again.

And again.

And again and again and again and again. It wasn’t quite four beats per second, but it was pretty much the “fucking” version of 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4.