Backstage of Private lessons

Liz picks up English fast when Robert enters her. Thick and uncut, the head pushes her ring wide. She bites the pillow, mumbling new words against the cotton—please, slower, deeper. Inch after slow inch slides in, stretching her where no one has been before. Once he bottoms out, she feels the pulse of blood against her inner walls. Sweat beads between her breasts and drips onto the sheets. He draws back, the pull leaving her empty, then snaps forward again, sending a wet smack through the quiet room. Each thrust opens her further, the grip tight and pulsing. In broken English she begs for more, the syllables breaking every time he drives in. She comes from the stretch alone, her thighs shaking against the mattress while he keeps pushing through the final spasm.