WESSEX
the wraith
she tied you to her kitchen chair
she broke your throne and she cut your hair
she broke your throne and she cut your hair
It’s true, he’s terribly obedient. After this, she might perversely wonder if Nate tops him all the time or if they switch. So far she’s been calling all the shots - is it courtesy? His nature? A role decreed by Frey?
None of that matters right now. Nothing but needing to touch him again and getting that fix. It still simmers between her legs, unable to be quenched with just his blood; she needs somethign else, his hands, his tongue, his cock. Going back to an image she often visits, Wessex has a good bit of amusement to herself, while casually rubbing slow circles around her clit.
“Can I sit on your face?” she asks the propped up demigod. Slipping a couple of fingers between her legs, she can feel how slick she is, and Gods, she needs something there to fill it soon. Rising to her knees, she waits for his consent before removing her handfrom the small, now thoroughly damp puff of golden girls and settling over his mouth.
Hooded with lust though her eyes might be, there’s both a commanding ferocity in them and a fondness for the Flood. The Wraith runs her fingers through his hair again, before she reaches for a nearby sconce to stabilize herself - y'know, so she doesn't crush his head between her thighs.
None of that matters right now. Nothing but needing to touch him again and getting that fix. It still simmers between her legs, unable to be quenched with just his blood; she needs somethign else, his hands, his tongue, his cock. Going back to an image she often visits, Wessex has a good bit of amusement to herself, while casually rubbing slow circles around her clit.
“Can I sit on your face?” she asks the propped up demigod. Slipping a couple of fingers between her legs, she can feel how slick she is, and Gods, she needs something there to fill it soon. Rising to her knees, she waits for his consent before removing her handfrom the small, now thoroughly damp puff of golden girls and settling over his mouth.
Hooded with lust though her eyes might be, there’s both a commanding ferocity in them and a fondness for the Flood. The Wraith runs her fingers through his hair again, before she reaches for a nearby sconce to stabilize herself - y'know, so she doesn't crush his head between her thighs.
and from your lips she drew
the hallelujah
the hallelujah
