[He has. He'll slowly unwind all her little secret likes and wants from her, as a man called Vecna should. Every little tell—undeniable proof—is committed to memory just as fervently, pleasure in its own right.
Both hands are on either side of her, and his fingers curl into the sheets as her tongue tastes him, draws him in. Surrounded by warmth, wet, and softness. He exhales a low sigh, as if the very act brings him relief — it does, in a way, though it only stokes that flame hotter, too, paradoxically making his desire flare.
Her grip might be tight around his thighs, but it'll hardly stop him inching forward farther into her mouth, encouraged. It feels just like the first time...]
I wonder if you'll let me come down your throat again. [They are hardly at that point yet, but the imaginings are lewd, indeed. And therefore worth speaking aloud.] Let me sink in so deeply that I have no choice. What do you think?
[Yes, she can't answer, and he knows it. And that's enticing, too.]
[ can't answer, can't deny. her responses are limited like this to thick, guttural sounds that will soon become moans trapped behind his cock. already she's so excited for it, the shameful pleasure in it; in her eagerness, her tongue twists around his length in ringlets and pulls him deeper.
deeper...
and there's the sound, way down inside her. her chest rises, flushed and pebbled, as Henry fills her out—quicker, shallower breaths. a quiver in her thigh-petting.
when she presses her lips around him, she feels how soft his skin is. how rigid the length is. next: the bend of her throat to contend with. ]
[That tongue of hers will be the death of him, and that's a thought he's going to have until the day he actually dies, probably. The way it coils around his cock as it slides in... he could indulge in that feeling alone, let her stroke him off like this until he comes.
But she draws him in, all the same, until the notion is pushed out of his mind in favor of the allure of sinking in deeper. One hand rises to squeeze at her wrist, just one more point of connection; his other palm stays flat against the bed and balanced, rooting him in place to ease forward until the tip of his cock finds where the start of her throat begins.]
Slowly, this time. [And again, knowing she can't reply, despite the figurative finger on her mental pulse he constantly employs:] Open up.
[It's more warning than command; his cock pulses with anticipation as he urges it farther.]
[ mmh. she opens anyway: not all the way, but enough that he can easily slide through her lips and steadily sink down onto her face. her breathing likely warms his undercarriage, coming in hard little sighs through her nose.
has she ever... done this slowly? she can't think of a time. it's a quick and dirty kind of thing to her—and the idea that this time it may be different has her squirming and rubbing her thighs against each other. her hands, even the one braced in Henry's grip, push at his thighs as though she is trying to widen his kneel and bring him lower, and therefore deeper. ]
["Slowly" is a novel little idea. He equates it with gentler, but they'll soon find out how well he can adhere to either notion. There's nothing gentle-seeming about the position, after all. It's all lewdness that lends itself towards animal instinct, wanting to fuck any hole that she's kind enough to present to him. The snug, warm, line of her throat is just as divine as any.
But for now... he'll try. He wonders how she'll prefer it when it's all said and done.]
There... Just like that. Beautiful girl, taking me in so easily.
[Her encouragement should be encouraged, too. He lowers, indeed having to widen the spread of his legs to sink in more deeply, slowly. His length, sliding in, requiring the hug of her throat to spread to let him in.]
A-ah. [A shaky laugh, light.] Even like this, you feel so good.
[ let's nobody labour under the idea that this is easy for her. her heart throbs in her ears and her fingers flex on his thighs with every little push into her throat—trying not to choke like before. trying to breathe. she curls her knees right up to her stomach, tail flittering loose to squirm on the bedspread.
whenever he laughs when they're like this... she swears it's like the touch of a lightning bolt. ]
[Discomfort is hardly the goal, of course; ultimately, he wants this to be just as pleasurable for her as it will be to him, even if it’s all derived from a psychological source. That said, there’s something compelling about watching her curl up and her tail squirming at a distance in reply to his cock easing down her throat. Again, that sense is control is tantalizing.
He pushes in, until he’s properly hilted, assuming she allows for it. And if she does, Henry is under no delusion that remaining like that would do anything more than choke her — so soon after, a retraction. Slow, steady.
The wet friction is her throat is almost better than he remembers.]
[ for a moment, no room for breath. all of it given, instead, to Henry's length seated inside her, her tongue moving gently against it, if not intentionally. she feels the sting of watering eyes and closes them.
then—a release. he tugs from her throat with a sound that is indescribable in its messiness. a soaked sound. a whimpering one. is this better than before? doubtful. but it's more familiar, with a sense of devotion which may have been lacking then. she's squirming in place as he drags between her lips, and Sprezzatura takes greedy fast breaths and tries to tug him back in with the coil of her tongue alone.
show him "better".
... moves one hand back and full on squeezes one of his buttocks. ]
[It’s better in that she isn’t choking on him. Granted, that’s a low bar to clear, but perhaps the familiarity helps. Or the deepest sense of love that’s only compounded upon itself since the first time.
Well, they’ll see. For now, she cuts her own reprieve short, depriving Henry further of the symphony of wet sounds, her gasps for breath, and her tongue coils and tugs and the tips of her nails prick at his skin as she gropes his backside. Henry sheaths inside once again, more at her behest this time than his own, but who’s he to complain? Her enthusiasm is enthralling, and inside her mouth is the only thing he cares to feel. How it hugs his cock, so stiff, aching for attention so much that every minute movement is elevated sensation. His nerves bright as he nudges in deeper with the slightest angle of his hips, inches more with so little effort.]
And more enthusiastic.
[He’s just asking for her to leave nail marks on his ass at this point.]
[ he is. and she does. she curls her fingers into his cheek, hard, mostly fingertip but a little bit of claw, too—and her other hand comes back to get the other buttock. he's completely in her throat and that makes her feel strangely combative, as though she needs to do something to prove she isn't just a submissive mindless woman who will swallow a man's cock just because he puts it in front of her. ]
[It just about tracks that she'd feel that way (he can feel tinges of it via his telepathy, picking up on the strange but not surprising indignity), that she still wants to prove herself despite being the one to suggest that he fucks her this way. That affront is made obvious by the sting biting into his cheeks, pinpricks of nails that'll more than leave a mark. Henry hisses out at the pain, but... predictably... he doesn't mind it. He likes it.
In reality, of course, he doesn't actually mean to goad her — he'd be the biggest fool in the universe to do that when he has his cock in her throat. His hands, instead, come forward and splay out, reaching to lean his weight forward as he gropes at her chest. Handfuls.
Hips easing out, then back in.]
Only teasing you. You know I love this, I love that you do this for me, I love you.
[ there is not very much room for the groping, with the way her knees are still tugged up to her chest, how she's almost curled up on herself as Henry sheathes and rocks in her. he can still manage it, of course—but not the full-bodied lean and weight of the first time.
love, love, love. her face burns the hotter with each proclamation. she loves him, she loves him too much, she should never succumb to this with him—but she couldn't say no. she wants to know the pleasure of allowing him what no one else was permitted.
she gulps down a breath when he eases out, swallows painfully around his length on the in. still squeezing his backside about as hard as she dares to. ten nail-pricks, fingertips practically bruising, and when she lifts and parts his backside, he'll feel—
a spectral, cool hand slip in and stroke over his hole. ]
[It's enough. Soft and malleable beneath his touch, even if the bend of her body prevents it in full. It's still half an anchor point (only half, because the majority of his weight, of course, remains on his knees), still enough for his fingers to flex into when he fucks her – out, then the blissful pull back in, her throat wrapped around him.
The prickling pain of her nails remains bright; a counterpoint to the pleasure, one that further elevates rather instead of detracts. Layered atop each other, the variation of sensation is divine, pain and pleasure twined into one experience that defines their love. Maybe there's more introspection to be had regarding that, but now's not the time for it. He feels—
An unexpectedly cool sensation over his hole.
Henry audibly gasps. His fingers flex hard and his spine straightens, pure surprise. The result is that he buries himself deeper down her throat, more instinct than intent.]
The little sound of her struggling brings enough awareness into his mind for him to ease back and out. Maybe towards that feeling around his rim, if it's still there.]
[ she turns her face to one side and coughs wetly against his thigh. the sensation of her Mage Hand remains, gently stroking in a little circle, but it stutters now and then. ]
[ she squeezes his cheeks in thanks, and the Mage Hand plays gently with him. beneath, Sprezzatura lipping at everything she can reach. the low-hanging fruit, so to speak. ]
[He supposes this is a short respite, well-earned since he nearly choked her a few moments ago. Henry keeps his back arched and nearly tries to nudge himself down on that ghostly touch. Sprezzatura’s mouth tickles at the underside of his cock, near the base. Glides against his balls, too, as she seeks to kiss whatever is near. He’s almost forgotten about his hands groping her chest, an effort that’s lessened since he’s straightened — but newfound awareness just means he pinches her nipples playfully as he takes every sensation in.]
How can you concentrate?
[To keep that magic going while they’re doing this. (Maybe no different than how Henry can concentrate enough to use his telekinesis when needed.)]
[ exactly so. but he receives no verbal reply, for Sprezzatura has occupied herself with those wet, licking kisses wherever she can place them. here and there, the worming presence of her tongue—especially when he pinches at her breasts.
he thinks he is so unique. that only he can maintain a focus like this.
he'll feel the pressure of her intent on him. he must look so pretty just now. too bad this view is the worst, even just peering through her lashes. she mouths at his thigh, then murmurs, ] This is most rudimentary magic.
[ the finger taps! on his hole! as if to punctuate. ]
[Even back home, he was not unique, though he was certainly uncommon. After having been departed from his version of Earth—at first unwillingly, and now very willingly—Henry has since learnt that he is not even that when it comes to strange abilities and the determined focus it sometimes takes to sustain them.
Still, even with those commonalities, he sometimes finds himself jealous of Sprezzatura's magic. Rudimentary, she calls it. Whereas even if Henry used his most rudimentary form of telekinesis, he'd still eventually reach a limit. That point where the blood vessels in his nose break and bleed.
He tries to click his tongue, and instead finds he doesn't even have the will to pretend to be indignant when she's treating him so well. A little jolt at the tap, though.]
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finalflight2024-12-26 07:22 pm
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Both hands are on either side of her, and his fingers curl into the sheets as her tongue tastes him, draws him in. Surrounded by warmth, wet, and softness. He exhales a low sigh, as if the very act brings him relief — it does, in a way, though it only stokes that flame hotter, too, paradoxically making his desire flare.
Her grip might be tight around his thighs, but it'll hardly stop him inching forward farther into her mouth, encouraged. It feels just like the first time...]
I wonder if you'll let me come down your throat again. [They are hardly at that point yet, but the imaginings are lewd, indeed. And therefore worth speaking aloud.] Let me sink in so deeply that I have no choice. What do you think?
[Yes, she can't answer, and he knows it. And that's enticing, too.]
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deeper...
and there's the sound, way down inside her. her chest rises, flushed and pebbled, as Henry fills her out—quicker, shallower breaths. a quiver in her thigh-petting.
when she presses her lips around him, she feels how soft his skin is. how rigid the length is. next: the bend of her throat to contend with. ]
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But she draws him in, all the same, until the notion is pushed out of his mind in favor of the allure of sinking in deeper. One hand rises to squeeze at her wrist, just one more point of connection; his other palm stays flat against the bed and balanced, rooting him in place to ease forward until the tip of his cock finds where the start of her throat begins.]
Slowly, this time. [And again, knowing she can't reply, despite the figurative finger on her mental pulse he constantly employs:] Open up.
[It's more warning than command; his cock pulses with anticipation as he urges it farther.]
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has she ever... done this slowly? she can't think of a time. it's a quick and dirty kind of thing to her—and the idea that this time it may be different has her squirming and rubbing her thighs against each other. her hands, even the one braced in Henry's grip, push at his thighs as though she is trying to widen his kneel and bring him lower, and therefore deeper. ]
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But for now... he'll try. He wonders how she'll prefer it when it's all said and done.]
There... Just like that. Beautiful girl, taking me in so easily.
[Her encouragement should be encouraged, too. He lowers, indeed having to widen the spread of his legs to sink in more deeply, slowly. His length, sliding in, requiring the hug of her throat to spread to let him in.]
A-ah. [A shaky laugh, light.] Even like this, you feel so good.
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whenever he laughs when they're like this... she swears it's like the touch of a lightning bolt. ]
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He pushes in, until he’s properly hilted, assuming she allows for it. And if she does, Henry is under no delusion that remaining like that would do anything more than choke her — so soon after, a retraction. Slow, steady.
The wet friction is her throat is almost better than he remembers.]
You’re doing even better than last time.
[(they’ve just started)]
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then—a release. he tugs from her throat with a sound that is indescribable in its messiness. a soaked sound. a whimpering one. is this better than before? doubtful. but it's more familiar, with a sense of devotion which may have been lacking then. she's squirming in place as he drags between her lips, and Sprezzatura takes greedy fast breaths and tries to tug him back in with the coil of her tongue alone.
show him "better".
... moves one hand back and full on squeezes one of his buttocks. ]
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Well, they’ll see. For now, she cuts her own reprieve short, depriving Henry further of the symphony of wet sounds, her gasps for breath, and her tongue coils and tugs and the tips of her nails prick at his skin as she gropes his backside. Henry sheaths inside once again, more at her behest this time than his own, but who’s he to complain? Her enthusiasm is enthralling, and inside her mouth is the only thing he cares to feel. How it hugs his cock, so stiff, aching for attention so much that every minute movement is elevated sensation. His nerves bright as he nudges in deeper with the slightest angle of his hips, inches more with so little effort.]
And more enthusiastic.
[He’s just asking for her to leave nail marks on his ass at this point.]
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In reality, of course, he doesn't actually mean to goad her — he'd be the biggest fool in the universe to do that when he has his cock in her throat. His hands, instead, come forward and splay out, reaching to lean his weight forward as he gropes at her chest. Handfuls.
Hips easing out, then back in.]
Only teasing you. You know I love this, I love that you do this for me, I love you.
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love, love, love. her face burns the hotter with each proclamation. she loves him, she loves him too much, she should never succumb to this with him—but she couldn't say no. she wants to know the pleasure of allowing him what no one else was permitted.
she gulps down a breath when he eases out, swallows painfully around his length on the in. still squeezing his backside about as hard as she dares to. ten nail-pricks, fingertips practically bruising, and when she lifts and parts his backside, he'll feel—
a spectral, cool hand slip in and stroke over his hole. ]
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The prickling pain of her nails remains bright; a counterpoint to the pleasure, one that further elevates rather instead of detracts. Layered atop each other, the variation of sensation is divine, pain and pleasure twined into one experience that defines their love. Maybe there's more introspection to be had regarding that, but now's not the time for it. He feels—
An unexpectedly cool sensation over his hole.
Henry audibly gasps. His fingers flex hard and his spine straightens, pure surprise. The result is that he buries himself deeper down her throat, more instinct than intent.]
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slightly. ]
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The little sound of her struggling brings enough awareness into his mind for him to ease back and out. Maybe towards that feeling around his rim, if it's still there.]
You startled me.
[Sorry.]
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Do you not like it cold?
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I do. I didn't say anything at all about not liking it.
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Then arch your back.
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He does as he's told, arching his back for her.]
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How can you concentrate?
[To keep that magic going while they’re doing this. (Maybe no different than how Henry can concentrate enough to use his telekinesis when needed.)]
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he thinks he is so unique. that only he can maintain a focus like this.
he'll feel the pressure of her intent on him. he must look so pretty just now. too bad this view is the worst, even just peering through her lashes. she mouths at his thigh, then murmurs, ] This is most rudimentary magic.
[ the finger taps! on his hole! as if to punctuate. ]
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Still, even with those commonalities, he sometimes finds himself jealous of Sprezzatura's magic. Rudimentary, she calls it. Whereas even if Henry used his most rudimentary form of telekinesis, he'd still eventually reach a limit. That point where the blood vessels in his nose break and bleed.
He tries to click his tongue, and instead finds he doesn't even have the will to pretend to be indignant when she's treating him so well. A little jolt at the tap, though.]
Uh-huh.
[Tweaks her nipples again, a little harder.]
You should... use it more often.
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Should I?
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Another way of being touched by you? Why wouldn't I want that?
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