[ Hard-tempted not to pull her up the chair and let her sit on his face, a gasp of his own catches in his throat when she strokes him and his touch fumbles for a moment, sliding up to her breasts instead where he can play with that lace and run a thumb underneath, brushing a violet nipple. ]
You can, uh. Take it out, if you want.
[ His joggers are stained with precome anyway, they may as well perish. ]
no subject
You can, uh. Take it out, if you want.
[ His joggers are stained with precome anyway, they may as well perish. ]