Nyra didn't know how long she'd been lying there, face stuck to the table, drool and pussy juice dripping in shameful symmetry. Her thoughts were fogged over—no, erased. Like someone had wiped her memory with a cloth soaked in cum and humiliation.
She was still panting when she heard Allen move behind her.
Mechanical. Unhurried.
Click. Click. Click.
Just the soft sound of his bare feet on the wooden floor as he rose. No triumphant grin. No mocking words. He simply stood… and aligned.
Nyra barely had time to look back before he grabbed her hips and slammed into her.
"GAAAH—F-FUCK!" she screamed, her entire body lurching forward from the force of it. The table legs groaned under the pressure as her ass rippled from the impact—waves radiating outward like she'd been struck by a lustful thunderbolt.
Allen didn't speak. Didn't grunt. Didn't moan.
He just started pounding her—raw, relentless, robotic—like he'd been given a command and would not stop until the job was complete.
