The sound came out involuntarily. Not a moan. Not protest. Just the acoustic output of a mouth that was full and couldn't decide what to do about it.
He pushed deeper.
The cockhead hit the back of her throat. Her gag reflex — suppressed by the paralysis — produced a weak, abortive heave that didn't fully engage. Her eyes watered. The shaft slid past her tongue, the girth of it filling her mouth entirely, the taste shifting from the surface flavor to something deeper, warmer, the taste of the shaft itself — skin and heat and the particular flavor of male arousal.
'It's... in my throat... I can feel it... the head... it's pressing... I can't breathe... I can't—'
He groaned.
