It’s the last day that you can vote for Ink as Best Feminist Sex in the Good Sex Awards!
I need your help. Would you please vote for Ink: Coven of Desire under the Best Feminist Sex Category?
Even sex demons believe in enthusiastic consent.
The Entry from INK
Ink yanked off my pants while I helplessly clutched at my shoulders. The man lowered to a knee as if this were a perverse proposal, his gaze on me while I struggled to breathe. Still, I couldn’t escape the raw power of his body, his muscles straining as he posed. Each line and swell begged for first my eye, my hand and my mouth. But I remained where he left me, standing only in the black thong with Witchy in green letters on the butt.
“How delightful,” he murmured, first tugging on the strap along my hips then sliding around to my ass. Ink dug his fingers in, spreading the cheeks until his tips glanced against the pucker hidden inside. A zap ripped through my body, this one sharp and focused, raising the panic that wouldn’t leave. But before he did something stupid like thrust into me without lube, Ink worried his fingers between the lace of my thong and my labia.
“Holy shit,” I cried, an ocean in my panties. Ink didn’t break eye contact with me as he pushed one thumb deep inside. Twisting his hand around, he ground the fleshy part of his thumb against my clit while straining to plumb me as far as possible. Fuck, it was lighting me up to a burning fever. My knees strained, thrusting me onto him.
He didn’t switch positions, didn’t even move, but I’d swear I could feel his thumb extending deeper into me. It filled me tight, swirling out to press against that elusive G-spot and leaving me struggling for air. If his thumb was this good, what would his mouth be like?
The free hand that’d been twisted around my underwear suddenly yanked them down. I cried in consternation as his thumb popped out, smearing my arousal down my inner thigh. An October chill glanced through my hot cunt, erupting goosebumps all across my body.