She couldn't find the words. Didn't know how to ask for what she needed, her heart racing, vulnerability raw.

"You want to be in control," Eros said, understanding immediately, voice gentle, knowing. "You want to set the pace. Make it about what you need instead of what I give you."

Patricia nodded, tears pricking again, relief flooding her. "Is that okay?"

"Patricia." He cupped her face again, palms tender, eyes intense. "You can have anything you want from me. Anything. Always."

She kissed him then—soft, tender. Not demanding. Just grateful, lips brushing, a slow, loving press, tongues touching lightly, a shared breath.

When she pulled back, she looked down between them. His cock stood proud—thick and hard and absolutely massive, veins pulsing, head dark and swollen, glistening with their earlier mess. Even after everything, the sight of it made her breath catch, her pussy throbbing, awe and need mingling.

She reached down with both hands. Her small, delicate hands looked almost ridiculous next to his size, fingers trembling slightly.

Her fingers couldn't come close to wrapping around his girth. She placed both palms on either side of his shaft, trying to encompass him, and there was still so much cock visible above and below her hands, the sheer size overwhelming.

"You're so big," she whispered, almost in awe, eyes wide, voice reverent. "Look at my hands. They can't even..."

She wrapped her right hand around him—or tried to. Her fingers didn't meet. Not even close. The gap between her fingertips and thumb was at least an inch. Maybe more. His girth was just too much for her small hand, hot, throbbing, velvet over steel.

She stroked upward slowly. Felt the heat of him, scalding, felt the veins—thick, raised lines running along his shaft that pulsed visibly with his heartbeat. She traced one with her finger—followed it from base to tip, feeling how it stood out from his skin, how it throbbed under her touch, a living pulse.

"These veins," she breathed, voice hushed, mesmerized. "I can feel them. Feel your pulse through them."

Her other hand joined. Both small hands working together, stroking his length. It took both hands stacked on top of each other to cover him from base to tip. And even then, the head protruded above, dark and swollen and glistening with precum that leaked from the slit, a slow, shiny bead.

She traced the head with her fingertips. Felt the flared ridge—pronounced, defined, the part that caught on her entrance, that dragged against her inner walls. Circled it with one finger, feeling the texture difference between the head and shaft, smooth, slick, sensitive.

"You're beautiful," she whispered, voice soft, awed. "Your cock is beautiful."

She stroked him slowly. Both hands moving together—up, feeling every vein, every ridge, every throb. Down, feeling the heat intensify near the base. Up again, watching precum leak from the tip. Down, feeling him throb harder in her grip, his breath hitching.

Eros groaned softly, voice low, strained. "Patricia. Your hands. The way you're touching me. It's—"

"Shh," she said softly, voice gentle, commanding. "Let me. Let me just... feel you."

She stroked for another minute. Learning him. Memorizing him. Feeling how he responded to her touch—how he throbbed when she squeezed gently, how more precum leaked when she circled the head, how his breathing changed when she traced the thick vein running along the underside, his hips twitching faintly.

Then she lifted herself. Positioned him at her entrance—using both hands to hold his cock steady because he was too thick to control with one, her fingers slick with precum, her pussy quivering.

The head pressed against her opening. Hot. Hard. Impossibly large, her lips parting, already swollen, still leaking cum.

She looked into his eyes, glowing softly, filled with love.

And slowly—so slowly—began to sink down.

The stretch was immediate. Intense. Her entrance spreading impossibly wide around just the head, bruised lips flaring, pink walls flashing, a soft, wet schlick. She watched his face as she took him—watched his eyes darken, his jaw clench, his breath catch, restraint etched in every line.

"Oh god," she gasped as the head popped inside, her pussy clamping, walls fluttering. "You're splitting me open."

"Take your time," Eros murmured, his hands on her hips—not pushing, not pulling, just there, supporting, warm. "Feel every inch." His voice a tender anchor, guiding her, loving her.

She sank down another inch. Felt the first thick vein drag against her inner walls, raised, prominent, a textured ridge scraping deliciously, creating friction that made her gasp, a sharp inhale, her pussy fluttering. Another inch. Another vein, pulsing, hot, her pussy stretching wider to accommodate his girth, lips splayed, pink walls yielding, a soft, wet schlick echoing.

"I can feel every vein," she breathed, voice shaky, awed, eyes half-lidded. "Every single one. They're so—"

Another inch. The stretch intensifying, her pussy working, muscles straining, inner walls forced apart by his thickness, burning, exquisite, her clit throbbing in sync.

Halfway down now. His cock reaching depths inside her that made her feel full in ways she'd never experienced before, a profound, soul-deep fullness, pressing against untouched places, her body molding to him. She could feel him everywhere—stretching her, filling her, claiming space inside her that had never been touched, her nerves singing.

She paused. Adjusted. Breathed, chest heaving, tears pricking from intensity.

"You're doing so good," Eros encouraged, voice low, tender, eyes glowing softly. "Taking me so perfectly. Keep going. However slow you need."

Patricia sank down more. Three quarters, her thighs trembling from the effort of controlling her descent, muscles quivering, taking him slowly instead of just dropping down, her pussy clenching, slick gushing.

She could feel everything. Every vein dragging against her sensitive inner walls, textured, pulsing, every ridge, every throb of his pulse, the way her pussy had to stretch and stretch and stretch to accommodate him, lips taut, entrance burning.

The final inch. She sank down completely until she was sitting fully in his lap, until his entire massive cock was buried inside her, balls pressed against her ass, until there was no space left—just her pussy wrapped around him like a glove, clamping, milking, a perfect, ruinous fit.

Both of them gasped, sharp, synced, the air electric.

"Oh fuck," Patricia breathed, voice trembling, eyes wide. "You're so deep. So—I can feel you everywhere."

She looked down at where they were joined. Her pussy stretched impossibly wide around the base of his cock, outer lips spread obscenely, flushed scarlet, glistening. She could see how much of him was inside her—see how her body had to accommodate all that length and girth, the base ringed in creamy slick, her clit throbbing visibly.

"Look at us," Eros said softly, voice reverent, eyes locked on their union. "Look at how perfectly you take me. How your pussy wraps around my cock."

Patricia placed her hands on his shoulders, fingers digging in, looked into his eyes, glowing, filled with love. And lifted herself slowly, her pussy clinging, walls rippling.

His cock slid out—inch by inch, glistening, coated in her slick, veins prominent, pulsing. She could feel every vein as it dragged through her, textured, friction sparking, could feel the ridge of his head catching on her inner walls, a delicious tug, could feel how her pussy clung to him, not wanting to let go, squelching softly.

She lifted until just the head remained inside. Paused. Let them both feel the emptiness. The loss, her pussy gaping, clenching at nothing.

Then sank back down—just as slowly, taking him inch by inch, feeling every vein, every ridge, every throb, her pussy stretching around him again, opening for him, accepting him, walls fluttering, slick flooding.

"Oh god," she breathed, voice breathy, overwhelmed. "This is—I can feel everything."

She established a rhythm. Slow. Deliberate. Up—feeling him slide out, watching his cock emerge glistening with her wetness, seeing the veins prominent and pulsing, thick, raised. Down—feeling him fill her again, watching him disappear inside her, feeling her pussy stretch and accommodate, lips splaying, a soft schlorp.

Each rise and fall was its own experience. Its own moment. She wasn't rushing toward orgasm. Wasn't chasing pleasure. She was just feeling. Experiencing. Connecting, her eyes flicking between his face, their joined bodies, the mirrors reflecting every angle.

Up. His cock slid out—she could see the thick vein running along the underside, could see how it pulsed, could see her wetness coating him, glossy, creamy. Down. He filled her again—she felt that vein drag against her inner walls, felt the texture, felt him throb inside her, her clit pulsing.

"You're so beautiful," Eros murmured, his eyes locked on where they joined, voice strained, awed. "The way your pussy grips me. The way you take me so slowly. I can see everything. See how you stretch around me. See how wet you are."

Patricia looked down too. Watched herself rise—watched his cock emerge, thick and veiny and absolutely drenched, precum and slick mixing. Watched herself sink down—watched her pussy stretch wide, watched him disappear inside her, watched the way her outer lips spread to accommodate him, flushed, glistening.

The visual was almost as erotic as the sensation, mirrors amplifying, every angle raw, intimate.

Up. She could see the prominent ridge of his head, see how it flared wider than his shaft, see how it would catch on her entrance, glistening. Down. She felt it catch, felt it drag through her, felt it stretch her in ways that made her gasp, a soft moan escaping.

Her rhythm stayed slow. Each movement controlled. Each rise and fall deliberate. She wasn't fucking him—she was making love to him. Taking him slowly. Savoring every inch. Every vein. Every ridge. Every sensation, her pussy a furnace, clenching, milking.

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