The position was a novelty.  So was the look in his eyes as he fucked her.  So was the feeling in her body of being completely used sexually, but not objectified.  He fucked her like hew as some sort of machine, a porn star, hard muscled thrusts that no man she could remember being with would have been able to keep up for long.  Hard deep thrusts that showed a sexual confidence and a lack of worry or mercy that none of her partners had ever had.  She was completely overwhelmed almost instantly, and yet he didn't last an instant.  He went on and on until her leg muscles burned, her pussy burned, her body trembled.<br/><br/>And yet she felt a perverse desire to keep up.  She kept her leg taut and straight, remembering dance classes long ago.  He had stirred her pussy into a wet, sopping mess and yet she squeezed it tight and fast around his pistoning cock, determined to not be some loose old cunt he fucked and forgot.  He was taking it up a notch--several notches--and she was determined to keep pace.<br/><br/>One hand, long manicured fingers, reached down through the trim bush to find her clit rubbing it in circles in time with his thrusting.  The other hand trailed up his body, his abdomen, his chest.  Her fingers found his nipple and she stroked it, teased it, even as she teased her clit. She could hardly breathe, his thrusts driving the air from her lungs, she could hardly feel, nothing but the feel of his cock deep in her and then out.  But she was here, magically here and only here as he drove her to delirium and back again.