Strap-on Fun Time

Summer Hart loves her strap-ons the way some people love good wine: she makes it count. She buckles the harness, tightens the strap between her thighs, and gives the dildo a slow, firm stroke like she means every inch of it. I watch, already wet, knowing the night has just begun. She starts lower first—her mouth on my clit, slow circles that drag and tighten and release. My back arches. When she shifts up, her tongue presses inside, and I ache from how soon it’s gone. She looks at me, lips slick, and nods like it’s my turn. So I climb down and taste her the same way—hungry, greedy, no quick kisses. We trade until neither of us wants to wait anymore. She lifts my knees. The first push of her strap-on stretches me deep, steady and exact, the way I always want. She builds the rhythm, hips rolling, working my cunt open with each thrust until the toy sinks to the base. She pounds me hard, but never sloppy; the harness creaks and my thighs tremble. Every so often, she drops down again, licks my clit while the silicone stays lodged inside, then drags back out and keeps fucking. The room smells like sex. My voice keeps going higher until she shoves me over the edge, pulse after pulse clenching around the strap. When I can see straight again, I reach for the harness, still buckled to her, still wet. Because I’m not done returning the favor.