#60 (of that time when we devoted officiants celebrated the ritual of your orgasm) Mary caressed your silken skin, enraptured by the intensification of your spasms (harbinger of an imminent, majestic orgasm), I, firmly planted between your thighs, without stopping to piston my cock into your soaking, welcoming sex, began to pound your breasts, to the rhythmic cadence of a metronome; Marco, who had just finished emptying himself inside you, promptly sensing how those thrusts were accelerating your race towards climax, made a completely unexpected gesture. He began to slap you. You remained stunned, trembling, in the grip of a now uncontrollable excitement. Six hands on your burning body, a few more slaps, light but precise. Your face disfigured by the blows and lust (even more beautiful, but how is that possible?) And here is the Ecstasy.