Approximately ten seconds later she was riding his hand, gasping and moaning and humping his fingers like the most shameless slut on earth. The sopping wet sounds her motions were creating was embarrassing—but she still couldn’t stop. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before. He didn’t seem at all concerned that he’d hurt her, that he would fail to get her off. That confidence was so attractive she could barely stand it. When blended with his finger-skills, his scent and the memory of his cock, Kate knew this was going to be the most memorable, sexual encounter of her life. Her engineer brain started whirring, trying to figure out how she could replicate this experience when she was alone, and the answer was—she couldn’t, not in a million years, not unless fully automated sex-robots arrived two hundred years earlier than predicted.

“Say it again,” Rugby Boy growled, frigging her. “Say it.”

This time Kate knew exactly what he wanted to hear. “Daddy,” she moaned. “Daddy.”

“That’s it gorgeous, keep saying it.”

Orgasms were like mountains, they had summits. Usually, when Kate was with another person, her arousal didn’t leave base camp one. She could carry herself a little higher using Sherpas—thoughts of men like Tyler Henderson spanking her, tying her down and using her as they saw fit–but the idea of reaching the pinnacle was laughable. She never orgasmed, except alone in her bed with all the time in the world and no expectations except her own. Tonight, that was different. Tonight she had wings and was speeding up the slopes in an icy blur. Her body was trembling, sweat beading on her back and between her breasts and she was going to come, she could feel it in her bones. And yet, no sooner had she thought that than the delicious buzz between her legs vanished.

“Daddy.” It was an involuntary cry, a plea that he wouldn’t let this end without her finding some satisfaction.

Rugby Boy’s fingers closed around her nipple. “You horny, sweetheart? You wanna finish?”

“Yes.” Please help me do it, Rugby Boy. Please?

His fingers curled inside her, thick and unrelenting. “Concentrate, focus on how I feel inside your tight little snatch. Nothing else matters. I’m not going to stop. I’m going to keep fucking you with my fingers until you gush all over me, understand?”

There was something familiar about his words, as though he’d stolen them from a favourite movie, but maybe that was just because they were perfect. Kate was here, living a lifelong fantasy, why couldn’t she come? She worked hard, ate her greens, and gave money to Greenpeace, why couldn’t she have an orgasm with another person, just this once?

“I understand,” she told Rugby Boy, then screwed up the last of her courage. “Can you…keep talking to me please, Daddy?”