[ His praise is a warmth which coils in her chest. The color has returned to her cheeks, bright pink with both the strain denying her oxygen and the increased blood-flow of arousal. But more notable is the way that the slide of his cock has bruised her lips, leaving them wet and swollen as he pulls her back.
She cringes at the prickling sting of his fist tightening in her hair, but the sound that slips out of her throat is caught halfway between a groan and a sputter. Light, airy, lewd. She forces her eyes back open as he makes his demand, finding his face. She searches for the softness behind his eyes, the part of him that is doing this to connect with her, to share something with her, not to hurt her.
Those threads, tugging gently at the bond, are inarguably needy. But she opens her mouth all the same, allowing him to slide past her lips again. She grips his thighs, fingertips bruising with how tightly she holds him to keep from flinching back as he thrusts in. Her whole body resists, her throat closing up before the head of his cock can reach it, her neck muscles tightening to pull her head back. She has to fight against all her instincts around large objects getting caught in her throat just to let him do it.
A thick layer of spit now coats his cock, making each glide easier. After his second thrust, she gets a moment to collect herself, eyes opening. They're glassy with strain. But she looks at his face, chasing that praise again. Then she tries to swallow him down again of her own accord, reclaiming control over the movement for the brief few moments she can. ]
no subject
She cringes at the prickling sting of his fist tightening in her hair, but the sound that slips out of her throat is caught halfway between a groan and a sputter. Light, airy, lewd. She forces her eyes back open as he makes his demand, finding his face. She searches for the softness behind his eyes, the part of him that is doing this to connect with her, to share something with her, not to hurt her.
Those threads, tugging gently at the bond, are inarguably needy. But she opens her mouth all the same, allowing him to slide past her lips again. She grips his thighs, fingertips bruising with how tightly she holds him to keep from flinching back as he thrusts in. Her whole body resists, her throat closing up before the head of his cock can reach it, her neck muscles tightening to pull her head back. She has to fight against all her instincts around large objects getting caught in her throat just to let him do it.
A thick layer of spit now coats his cock, making each glide easier. After his second thrust, she gets a moment to collect herself, eyes opening. They're glassy with strain. But she looks at his face, chasing that praise again. Then she tries to swallow him down again of her own accord, reclaiming control over the movement for the brief few moments she can. ]