The sounds muffled behind her palm, each one higher than the last, the specific, uncontrolled quality of vocal cords doing what they were going to do regardless of the hand pressed against them. Her thighs — her thighs were shaking. She could feel them shaking. The cold metal bin under her and her thighs shaking against his hips and his mouth on her breast and his fingers working at her in slow, hard, deep circles —
He pressed.
One long, grinding, circular press — the full, deliberate weight of his hand — and she felt the exact moment her body decided it was done consulting her.
"HNGHH—~!!"
The wet, sudden, unstoppable rush of it — the squirt, the soaking, the way her underwear went from damp to saturated in one single shuddering moment — the sound of it barely audible under her own broken moan, the wet evidence of it seeping through the fabric against his palm —
Her whole body shook.
She grabbed his shoulder.
