And they lived comfortably ever after, boob in hand
As she arced back into the plush lounge, she was at once caught in the parallel of the softness at her back and the hard, rigid shape of the man's sword sheathing and unsheathing inside of her. It was a rich blend of sensation, and being guided into that limbo of feeling meant the pillowy fabric behind her began to feel too sharp for all its softness, and the swordsman too dull now. "More, stab it into me more!" she cried out, the heave of her chest breasting over the turgid grip of his thumb on her side. An animalistic growl, not unlike the brave and impressive lion, roused in respon—what the fuck IS that!
"No, no, no!" Quentin cries out suddenly, the ink on the paper abruptly stopping its scrawl beside him. It shimmers with the still-wet of something freshly written, catching the low, warm lighting of the Dusklight with a winking quality. "That sounded like you were about to cough up something wet on her," he complains, striding out of his stool to gesture with a grand, sweeping hand at the nude man currently balls deep in the woman cast over the lounge chair with all the care and reach of freshly heaped laundry. "You want to really pull it down from your chest," Quentin squats a touch as both hands dive down in front of him, scooping up some air and bringing it up with a show of resistance that dosn't exist. "Dig deep man. It should sound like you are a wild, primal thing that can only be tamed by her vagina."
He sets one hand out into the air in front of him now, clasping an invisible body, his other hand falling behind him for balance as he gyrates into the invisible beauty. "Then, after the growl, remember you hooooold it. Hold it! And say, 'you are mine'." Quentin's teeth click together and he faintly shakes his head back and forth, seeming to tear at something unseen. "And your teeth, you bare them just a little under the curl of your lip so the sound can some through all mangled because you're absolutely devolving into her fabulous pussy. Your fingers should press hard enough into the side of the seat you're holding to splinter the wood, as you grab for enough purchase to tear her apart precisely as she needs to orgasm, which is the only purpose of your existence in this very moment!"
"No, no, no!" Quentin cries out suddenly, the ink on the paper abruptly stopping its scrawl beside him. It shimmers with the still-wet of something freshly written, catching the low, warm lighting of the Dusklight with a winking quality. "That sounded like you were about to cough up something wet on her," he complains, striding out of his stool to gesture with a grand, sweeping hand at the nude man currently balls deep in the woman cast over the lounge chair with all the care and reach of freshly heaped laundry. "You want to really pull it down from your chest," Quentin squats a touch as both hands dive down in front of him, scooping up some air and bringing it up with a show of resistance that dosn't exist. "Dig deep man. It should sound like you are a wild, primal thing that can only be tamed by her vagina."
He sets one hand out into the air in front of him now, clasping an invisible body, his other hand falling behind him for balance as he gyrates into the invisible beauty. "Then, after the growl, remember you hooooold it. Hold it! And say, 'you are mine'." Quentin's teeth click together and he faintly shakes his head back and forth, seeming to tear at something unseen. "And your teeth, you bare them just a little under the curl of your lip so the sound can some through all mangled because you're absolutely devolving into her fabulous pussy. Your fingers should press hard enough into the side of the seat you're holding to splinter the wood, as you grab for enough purchase to tear her apart precisely as she needs to orgasm, which is the only purpose of your existence in this very moment!"
Quentin
