[ For all of her quips and insults, Aranea is a surprisingly patient lover when she wants to be, singleminded in her goal of making him cum. She lives for the slow burn and payoff, opportunistic where it counts; the way her fingers and tongue move in tandem serves as a testament to that much. She's unrelenting and merciless when she needs to be, but she just as quickly reins it in when she feels that she runs the risk of overstimulating him. There's nothing polite or clean about the way she goes to town between his legs, and she figures that that's the best way to approach anything of this nature.
The sound of his nails raking across the leather prompts her to look up at him even as he bucks wildly against her mouth, hitting the back of her throat. The hand without fingers that are currently knuckle-deep in his ass flattens itself across his lower belly, soothing but firm, in order to keep him relatively in place. Prompto twitches and jerks in her mouth with every forward push of her fingers, and though Aranea's long since established a rhythm, she decides to switch it up. Her fingers begin to move faster, more insistently; in all honesty, if he'd had the wherewithal to make his request, she'd likely have obliged.
The Commodore grunts at his words, the needy submissiveness of his tone prompting her to push both of her fingers into him to their utmost, her eyes flickering downwards to take in the sight of them disappearing into his tight, much-abused hole. The way his skin stretches to accommodate them is fascinating in its own right, and the hot, thick drag of her digits is emphasized by the way she curls them upwards, stroking her new favorite button almost lovingly. Aranea catches sight of the way that his head bobs upwards and braces herself before meeting the thrusts of his hips with the craning of her neck, fucking him right back as her fingers start to move in tight, little circles against his prostate.
The scream that rips from his throat is likely to be heard by any tourists who happen to be on the pier, and Aranea gives a soft, encouraging moan as rope after rope of white, sticky down spills onto the back of her tongue, coating the back of her throat even as she swallows to accommodate it. She pulls back from his cock as he takes the picture, her lips connected to its crown by a tenuous, splintering string of saliva and semen. Aranea moves to cover his cock with her lips again afterwards, effectively cleaning up any lingering spurts of cum that may dribble from his slit.
Her fingers cease their movements only when he lowers himself to a supine position, and she withdraws them with a wet shlup. Her knees ache from maintaining her position above him for so long, and she sits back, unfurling her legs from underneath her in order to stretch them out in the spaces not occupied by Prompto's. ]
Really? That's the part that you don't believe? Not the fact that you haven't even paid me yet? [ She reaches down and swipes a stray string of cum that dribbles down from his cock head with her thumb, bringing it to her lips and licking it clean. ] You're welcome, by the way.
no subject
The sound of his nails raking across the leather prompts her to look up at him even as he bucks wildly against her mouth, hitting the back of her throat. The hand without fingers that are currently knuckle-deep in his ass flattens itself across his lower belly, soothing but firm, in order to keep him relatively in place. Prompto twitches and jerks in her mouth with every forward push of her fingers, and though Aranea's long since established a rhythm, she decides to switch it up. Her fingers begin to move faster, more insistently; in all honesty, if he'd had the wherewithal to make his request, she'd likely have obliged.
The Commodore grunts at his words, the needy submissiveness of his tone prompting her to push both of her fingers into him to their utmost, her eyes flickering downwards to take in the sight of them disappearing into his tight, much-abused hole. The way his skin stretches to accommodate them is fascinating in its own right, and the hot, thick drag of her digits is emphasized by the way she curls them upwards, stroking her new favorite button almost lovingly. Aranea catches sight of the way that his head bobs upwards and braces herself before meeting the thrusts of his hips with the craning of her neck, fucking him right back as her fingers start to move in tight, little circles against his prostate.
The scream that rips from his throat is likely to be heard by any tourists who happen to be on the pier, and Aranea gives a soft, encouraging moan as rope after rope of white, sticky down spills onto the back of her tongue, coating the back of her throat even as she swallows to accommodate it. She pulls back from his cock as he takes the picture, her lips connected to its crown by a tenuous, splintering string of saliva and semen. Aranea moves to cover his cock with her lips again afterwards, effectively cleaning up any lingering spurts of cum that may dribble from his slit.
Her fingers cease their movements only when he lowers himself to a supine position, and she withdraws them with a wet shlup. Her knees ache from maintaining her position above him for so long, and she sits back, unfurling her legs from underneath her in order to stretch them out in the spaces not occupied by Prompto's. ]
Really? That's the part that you don't believe? Not the fact that you haven't even paid me yet? [ She reaches down and swipes a stray string of cum that dribbles down from his cock head with her thumb, bringing it to her lips and licking it clean. ] You're welcome, by the way.