Then the sofa was 'soaked'.
A hot, clear gush of squirt poured out of her cunt around his fingers in a powerful, humiliating arc, spraying across the cushion and soaking the fabric in a dark, spreading puddle beneath her.
Her face dropped flat into the wet spot.
Arms useless.
Legs shaking in fine, uncontrollable tremors against the couch edge.
"What—" She gasped into the soaked fabric, voice wrecked. "What the 'fuck' is—'another aftershock ripped through her'—what did you 'do' to me—?"
The air was gone from her lungs.
'That has 'never' happened like that—my body didn't even ask permission—it just 'squirted' like some cheap porn slut—my own juice is leaking down my thighs and I can't stop it—'
