'I hate him and both my nipples are on fire and the rings are heavy and every tiny movement of the evening breeze touches them and sends that fire directly into my—' 'Oh god why does the weight of them—'
He grabbed her by both rings simultaneously.
Not pulling. Just holding the weight of them between two fingers each, letting gravity do what gravity does.
Her knees buckled.
"You 'bastard'—" The word came out in a broken hiss, hands shooting to his forearms, gripping hard. "They are 'brand new'—you can't just—"
"Open your legs."
The voice was flat.
She opened her legs.
Two fingers found her cunt against the stone wall, the same two that had wrecked her inside on the sofa, and this time there was no warm-up.
He drove them deep on the first push, curling immediately against her front wall with that same brutal precision, while his other hand still held both rings.
'Ohh—the fingers in me and the pull of the rings at the same time—the pain and the—the combination is—'
