Meghan's facial expression kind of matched what was going on inside her mind. She had done the foreplay. The foreplay, the exciting of her sexual flesh, the wetting of herself - the making herself ready for the main even had happened over an indeterminate time before those girls had come in. Now Meghan was in the end game. Her arms and her hands were held tight against that wall. At least that was happening in her own mind. Arms held tight, secured or held by other hands. Human hands. Or maybe not human at all. But the intense pleasure that was being inflicted between her legs was like an enforced pleasure. Like she might have objected to it. Or she might have fought it, or resisted it. But she couldn't do that because the pleasure was too intense. It was too much for her to resist. That feeling - that stimulation of her sexual nerve endings. Those nerve endings under her own fingertip. She was pressing and rubbing. Pressing and rubbing and her fingertip was sliding around in that wetness. That slippery wetness that was oozing from her sex. In her mind her arms and her hands held tight. She flexed her fingers. Closed them into fists and then opened them again. Exactly like she might if they were being held tightly. As though she were aiding her own blood flow. Like she didn't want her circulation to be impeded. That was a sign of how hard or how firmly her arms and her wrists were being held, in her own mind. In her own fantasy.

Meghan's tongue slipped out of her mouth. Not all of it, just the tip. And that tongue tip just ventured into the corner of her mouth where her upper and lower lips met. She was breathing more quickly. Little short sharp gasps of breath the closer she came to that explosive orgasm. And it was like she was torn between the fantasy of having her arms and her wrists held tightly and the balancing act that was bringing her to a more intense orgasm than she had the last time. Like a little competitiveness inside herself. Like a quest that she needed to be on - a quest to top the last orgasm. Always a need for the last orgasm to be bettered. For the buzz to be topped. A closer look between her legs would reveal the extent of her wetness. It would be difficult to believe that so much wetness and slipperiness existed in a girl so young. She lifted one leg and because she was wearing over the knee woollen socks, she looked more crude, more obscene than she should have otherwise. The sight of those long legs partly socked and the suggestiveness of the over the knee design. Yet more fact adding to the disturbed feeling that surrounded the scene. Taking with what was going through her mind and there was more than the original reason to feel unsettled by this.

Meghan licked her lips. Her tongue slid with ease across the full width of her mouth. And her eyes seemed to light up more. Yes there was like a light in there - a bright light as she was taken closer and closer to the edge of that orgasm. In her mind she couldn't move her arms. Or her hands. All she could do was close and open her fingers to help the circulation. Open and closed. Open and closed tightly. Then opened again. In her mind she was helpless against the pleasure that was being 'forced' on her between her legs. There was like a troubled look on her own face. Like something was happening that she preferred not to happen. Her orgasm being 'forced' onto her. Where she felt she should be able to stop and suppress that orgasm she couldn't because she didn't have the control. It was a troubled look that she had on her face but it was also one of intent. Like this internal fight that she was having with herself. Fighting against those hands holding her own. Fighting to get the best orgasm she had ever had. And fighting herself in a third way. Kind of like fighting with herself that she knew things were not right in her mind. A three way fight that she was losing on all fronts.

When she orgasmed there was more fluid. She was wetter. And she squirted. With her panting and her breathing quicker - it was like she was holding her breath because when she did that it enhanced the orgasm. That orgasm rising and then just edging. Edging, just staying there teetering and then beyond the point of return and it seemed as though her whole body was caught in this orgasmic pleasure. And the thing was, it was an intense beautiful thing. In her mind the fingers were holding her tighter, and tighter. They seemed to get tighter the more the orgasm took hold. She was living that fantasy. Living it in her own mind. Living it through that intense, almost paralysing orgasm. Holding her breath as she squirted. It didn't matter that she splashed her over the knee socks with her own orgasmic juices. She was in the moment - completely immersed. Her eyes rolled. They rolled back until just the whites were visible and then they rolled back down again. And she nibbled on her bottom lip. Like she was having trouble dealing with the intensity of the orgasm. But at the same time like she couldn't stop it. That fingertip working her clit. In her mind she couldn't stop it because her hands were being held - they were secured and she had no choice but to absorb the forced orgasm. That is what she was living inside her mind - the forced orgasm. The no-choice orgasm. The orgasm that she could not get away from. She reached the peak, and then she came down again. Slowly she came down. Very slowly. And her eyes seemed to come back to life. She seemed to slink back into the real world again and she was this sweet, sweet, achingly pretty girl. Like she was snapping out of it. And for just a split second there was a serenity across her face. Like she had fulfilled the need to top the last orgasm. But then the next second there was this troubled look. Like a slight frown. Already she was thinking about the next orgasm.