yassss. Like he would be babbling the whole time. And she’d just counter because it’s how they work and how they’re comfortable with each other. But her hands speak a whole different story.
She’s slow and gentle, fingertips just petting his hole, dipping in with slicked up fingers. Just a little – just to spread the wetness in and around his rim until he’s trembling beneath her and sliding his knees farther apart.
Nothing on his body is smooth anymore. That lovely, little bottom she liked to lick and spank, is still a tight, little ass but now there’s so much more texture to it that she’s been very hesitant to explore the first few weeks. Half because he wasn’t taking very good care of his personal hygiene and half because it was just scary.
By now he’s got a better grasp on everything again, though. Lets her stand in the doorway and watch him shower long and thoroughly, making sure he’s nice and clean for her to play with whenever the fancy strikes.
He smells so good now. She wants to bite him constantly and it is scary because he’s been tortured and she just wants the best for him even though he’s a fucking asshole and she’s a fucking asshole and they can be so mean towards each other.
She’s got such a pretty cock for him. It’s small and sleek, perfect for prostate stimulation, and the material is a bright, obnoxious rainbow that makes him giggle randomly whenever he thinks about it. And she loves feeling him shake beneath her. Loves it even more, though, when it’s with lust and frustration. When his quips become shaky and the sarcasm falls away until it’s just naked need when he’s begging her to finally give it to him.
“Pretty please with sugar and a cherry on top?”
And god, he’s so sensitive now. He fucking howls the first time she reaches in deep enough to gently drag her fingers across his prostate and she nearly falls off the bed in her haste to pull back, an apology on the tip of her tongue before she hears him whine pathetically, scarred face peeking at her with plaintive want across the swell of his strong, equally scarred shoulder.
“You’re killin’ me here, girl. Don’t leave a guy hanging – fuck!”
He’s breathing hard and pressing his forehead against the bedding, and he looks so lovely in that moment. Shivering and needy, an expanse of scars and grooves laid out in front of her just for her to play with.
“Pushy, pushy…” she murmurs but there’s a fond smile in her voice and she leans forward and after a second of hesitation, breathes a little kiss onto the quivering muscle of his entrance. “Get ready to get fucked, Mister Wilson.”
“Finally!”
Cyberrat Writes 