Miranda's Miracle

Arty had spent years chasing girls who shut him down at the mere mention of anal. Then Miranda arrived. She didn't just allow it; she craved it. The first time he eased into her, she pushed back, hungry for every inch. From that moment their nights became a private liturgy of spit-slicked cock and tight, yielding heat. She took him deep, legs folded, eyes locked on his, breath hitching each time he bottomed out. When she dropped to her knees afterward and opened wide for his load, Arty realized the fantasy he’d nursed for so long now lived and breathed—wet, willing, and wrapped around his cock every chance she got.