#60 (of that time when we, devoted officiants, celebrated the ritual of your orgasm). Mary languidly caressed your silken skin, enraptured by the intensification of your spasms, harbingers of an imminent, majestic orgasm. I, firmly planted between your thighs, without stopping to plunge my cock into your soaking, welcoming sex, began to pound your breasts, to the rhythmic beat of a metronome. Marco had just finished emptying himself inside you, but sensing immediately how those thrusts were accelerating your race towards climax, he made a completely unexpected gesture. He began to slap you. You remained stunned, trembling, gripped by 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.