“Bad luck princess” Harrison triumphantly proclaimed. He had Poppy under his thumb in both a literal and metaphorical sense. At least that was what he needed her to think. Her distinctive plaited hair and angelic face had entranced many before him and even now, with her toppling into the abyss of a loss of control and the terrible beauty that is a losing orgasm, his eyes kept going astray and focusing too much on her expression of what seemed like admiration for his stamina in keeping pace with Poppy’s unquenchable appetite for male ejaculate.
Poppy was admiring, she hadn’t met a lot of men who could go for this length of time, she was really starting to slip, her girl next door looks suddenly not enough, he was managing to ignore her, only focused on winning.
Harrison needed a psychological edge and was getting it, Poppy believed he had her and that was enough. Three minutes later she would submit to the idea that he had planted in her brain. Her defeat was coming as would she.