[ her heart flutters in her chest. it's an absurd thing. he's got his cock in her mouth for saint's sake, but oh, it feels good to hear him tell her how beautiful she looks like this. to be cherished for giving him this.
the second and third and every iterative drag of her lips is wetter than the last. her saliva clings to his skin, gathers in his hair, coats her lips. the movements are easier, warmer, but also messier, louder. she can hear as well as feel the way his cock fills the hollow at the back of her throat, punching air out of her with a wet sound that makes her thighs clench.
she moans around him. the sound rumbles through his cock. the changed shape of the muscles of her throat, of her tongue, mean she almost gags on that next plunge. everything above her amplifiers briefly tenses at once, like her lungs seizing, but that precariousness only makes her warmer. ]
(I want to touch myself.) [ it's less deliberate reply and more slip of intention. but now that it's between them, she opens her eyes with some struggle, looking doe-eyed up at him to ask: ] (Tell me I can. Out loud. I want to hear you, please. Tell me I'm good.)
[ later, this admission will embarrass her. the way the telepathic communication he opens makes it too easy for all her needy pleas to spill over into speech. but her poor neglected cunt throbs with need, and it is only a fraction of the hunger he's awakened in her for further praise. ]
no subject
the second and third and every iterative drag of her lips is wetter than the last. her saliva clings to his skin, gathers in his hair, coats her lips. the movements are easier, warmer, but also messier, louder. she can hear as well as feel the way his cock fills the hollow at the back of her throat, punching air out of her with a wet sound that makes her thighs clench.
she moans around him. the sound rumbles through his cock. the changed shape of the muscles of her throat, of her tongue, mean she almost gags on that next plunge. everything above her amplifiers briefly tenses at once, like her lungs seizing, but that precariousness only makes her warmer. ]
( I want to touch myself. ) [ it's less deliberate reply and more slip of intention. but now that it's between them, she opens her eyes with some struggle, looking doe-eyed up at him to ask: ] ( Tell me I can. Out loud. I want to hear you, please. Tell me I'm good. )
[ later, this admission will embarrass her. the way the telepathic communication he opens makes it too easy for all her needy pleas to spill over into speech. but her poor neglected cunt throbs with need, and it is only a fraction of the hunger he's awakened in her for further praise. ]