CHULANE
blending into the darkness, & it gets harder to see
Gods but is he lost in her, literally and figuratively, his body and soul writhing in her grip, his breaths coming in moaning gasps with each stroke of her hot lips upon him. Her tongue inflames him, its motion ushering more pulses, more eager little thrusts from his hips. Then her hand joins the venture, gripping him in the sudden absence of her mouth, and he is almost sorrowful at the exchange - which is forgotten as she takes him again, humming against him, a song he feels more than he hears, for his own moans threaten to drown out any song she might sing.
And the bond opens once more, the phenomenon as thrilling as it always has been, her pleasure only augmenting his own blissful state, as he accepts that she does this for him because she wants to. The idea only incites more from him, more desire, more of her. And he receives it, her motion increasing, her other hand venturing now to his balls, to artfully massage them - a strange noise, an outcry of pleasure escapes his lips at the contact, coming from a place of almost-fear that his climax is too near to be stopped now.
"I… want… you…" his low guttural voice beckons, demands, as he moves the hand that was so tightly gripping her shoulder to press against the side of her neck, his intense gaze seeking hers, almost pleading with her to stop (or else forgive him if he comes too soon should she continue on this path), so that he might ensure she experiences the same pinnacle of pleasure that he does. He would never force her, but he had to let her know he was close - the pulsing, throbbing heat that ushered in more little waves of precum should be evidence enough to her of that.
And the bond opens once more, the phenomenon as thrilling as it always has been, her pleasure only augmenting his own blissful state, as he accepts that she does this for him because she wants to. The idea only incites more from him, more desire, more of her. And he receives it, her motion increasing, her other hand venturing now to his balls, to artfully massage them - a strange noise, an outcry of pleasure escapes his lips at the contact, coming from a place of almost-fear that his climax is too near to be stopped now.
"I… want… you…" his low guttural voice beckons, demands, as he moves the hand that was so tightly gripping her shoulder to press against the side of her neck, his intense gaze seeking hers, almost pleading with her to stop (or else forgive him if he comes too soon should she continue on this path), so that he might ensure she experiences the same pinnacle of pleasure that he does. He would never force her, but he had to let her know he was close - the pulsing, throbbing heat that ushered in more little waves of precum should be evidence enough to her of that.
try to stand & unravel what a man's gotta be
