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this what you want, little slut? To be filled like this?...Or do you need more?”
    â€œMore,” she begged.
    He tossed the tube onto the counter.
    He reached for a slim bottle of hand lotion. Its diameter was only about an inch and a half, not even as big around as his cock, but it felt marvelous when he slid it into her. She found his rhythm and moved her hips, fucking the bottle, taking it deeper so that his knuckle brushed against her clit. The orgasm was a hazy presence, looming in her consciousness, ready to burst through at any moment that she allowed it, but she fought it. She didn’t want to come yet, didn’t want to come with the inanimate object inside her, no matter how good it felt.
    â€œGood girl,” Ricardo murmured. “That’s it.”
    Then he set the lotion on the counter, close enough to Chelsea that she could see the dewy moisture along its surface. That was her —her damp cunt, her greedy juices.
    â€œMore?” he asked quietly, his hand hovering over the collection of toiletries arrayed on a porcelain tray.
    She moaned. She wanted his cock. She wanted to get up—her back was beginning to ache from the position she was in, and her face hurt from being pressed against the hard marble—but she wanted to find out how far he would take this. On the tray were cosmetics, brushes, a silver compact.
    And a drinking glass, which his hand settled on.
    Chelsea gasped. The glass was small—for such a vessel. But it was still more than two inches across the base, larger than any cock she had ever seen, larger than anything that had ever been inside Chelsea. It was finely pebbled, crafted by some artisan somewhere, someone who would undoubtedly be very surprised to know what was about to become of his work.
    â€œNo,” she whispered. “It’s too much.”
    Ricardo ignored her and pressed the bottom of the glass against her opening. He massaged and rubbed, using her own slippery juices to ease his way, but it was just too large. He angled the glass so that it rubbed against her clit, and the sensation of the cool glass with its bumpy texture drover her higher, and she ground her hips, bucking and humping. He returned to trying to ease the object inside her, twisting and pushing ever more firmly.
    Suddenly, with a fleeting sharp sensation, it breached her opening.
    Chelsea gulped, the pain at first discomfiting—and then Ricardo twisted some more. The glass went deeper, the little nubs stroking inside her, pressed tightly against her pussy walls. Pleasure zigged and zagged, and Chelsea’s hands grappled at nothing, her toes curling in response to the sensation.
    â€œSteady, now,” Ricardo said, and Chelsea gave in and let him guide her. He alternated twisting with pushing in further, stretching her from within, and the sensation of being filled so completely nearly pushed her over the edge.
    â€œI don’t think I can wait,” she pleaded. “I’m going to come.”
    â€œNo, you’re not.” Ricardo slipped the thumb of his free hand into her mouth, and she lapped it eagerly, gratefully, hungrily.
    But the distraction didn’t last long. When he’d managed to insert the glass all the way, he immediately began stroking it in and out. Slowly at first, and then increasing his speed, the textured surface massaging and stimulating while she was fucked by its entire massive girth.
    Chelsea’s breath came in audible grunts until she couldn’t bear it any more, and pushed his thumb from her mouth. “I need you now,” she begged. “Please, please!”
    She needed his hot, very alive cock inside her, not this inanimate thing; she needed his hands on her, their bodies joined. Without thinking she reached around and pushed his hand away. The glass slipped free, and Ricardo slammed it down on the counter so hard she thought it would break.
    Then she was in the air.
    He picked her up like a load of laundry