finalflight | DEDICATED HENRATURRA POST;

[Completely connected, about as close as he can be, seamed to her, without diving into her head for good measure.

No, there’s not much room on the couch, but it’s easy work for Henry, who only needs to lean into her, practically over her, and rut. He does have to use that free hand of his now to reach forward and brace a palm against the back of the couch, seen in her periphery. But otherwise, the way the weight’s distributed lends to the vigor in which he chooses, almost immediately, to fuck her.

Hard, fervently, doggedly chasing pleasure in the hug of her cunt. If you’re feeling generous, you could call it passionate; if not, you might call it greedy.]

Next time, we’ll do it just like this again-

[ like this, Sprezzatura Vaux is an easy lay. next time, they have so many next times... she sets her jaw and closes her eyes, hair falling in curtains around her as Henry fucks into her. with an arched back, the pressure of his plunging cock lays hard into her walls.

the growing sense of... needing to relieve herself. skin on skin. her face burns. she recognizes the growing feeling and wriggles her hips as though trying to find an angle where Henry does not drive quite so well, so deep. but all it really does is work her cunt more welcome and open, then hug it around his length. ]

Mmn!

[ harder to breathe with his hand over her mouth. lightheaded... ]

[It's as though he seeks to plumb her deeper with every thrust, and her wiggling does little to dissuade him. For a mercy, he will not last long like this—not while prioritizing his release—so she's not fated to be held in a position meant for his ease for fucking over all else. For too long, anyway.

But in the time that she is, his movements are hard, set to a fast tempo. The grip of her cunt is so divine, she always feels so good, and he grunts a little in his exertion, his fingers still curled around her mouth. He can feel her breathing through her nose, fanning over his fingers.

Murmured, senseless, stream of consciousness, constant as he rocks into her:]

Ffffuck— ah, you... you were made for this, can't you feel it, too? I'm going to spill— every last drop inside-

[ more and more intensely, the feeling of being... used. muffled despite her preferences, bent over forward despite her preferences; she opens her eyes for a moment but only sees the blur of the sofa cushions below her face and his hand sealed across her mouth.

it's not as exciting as she'd hoped.

but he likes it.

breathing hard and laborious as he fucks her, Sprezzatura closes one hand around his wrist. thinks about pulling it away but doesn't. she remains muzzled. her tail, limp at her side, flicks slowly in time with the way he moves her—forward and back, taking him in with no difficulty and plenty of slide. the insides of her thighs feel wet. her body finding the pleasure in the pose that her mind seems to lack—relentless pressure on her walls that— ]

Hmmnnm.. Mmn—

[ ... that ... ]

Hh-hhmn—

[ that—seems to open a floodgate, one which begins to pour out of her as easy as letting go, and it's wetting Henry's cock and thighs and his trousers, too, and the sofa cushions, all while she makes a menagerie of animal sounds and twists at the pivot point where he plunges into her. simultaneously trying to escape and also bury him deeper into that tender place leaking, pulsing, clutching down on his length. she hears herself whimpering. ]

[Henry doesn't at first realize it's happened; her cunt is already so slick that the addition of more is neglible when it comes to what his cock feels, chasing only the friction and hug of her walls, and just how deep of an angle he can fuck her.

He's already so close when does realize what's happening, when she makes those keening noises under his hand, when she writhes beneath like she can't decide if she wants him to stop or keep fucking her until she has no more left to give. His thighs feel wet, and it drips down so low that he knows she's doing the same to his trousers, and he doesn't even have to pull away and look to verify it for himself before the very notion itself acts as a tipping point.

Henry seams in close, fucks her erractically—impossibly wet, lewd noises each time—until the final stroke seats him inside and he stills with a growl. He comes, his body propelling into orgasm. Heavy, heavy breathing, his heart feeling like it might leap out of his ribcage, and as his cock pulses inside of her, spilling, he finally loosens his fingers around her mouth and retracts his hand. Lets her breathe.

Words are beyond him right now. His mind feels temporarily shunted out of his body.]

[ a deep gasp, then, as air comes back to her. her hips stutter and squirm even as Henry hilts himself and goes still—tiny movements, but uncontrolled and hitching, jerking. ]

Mammon...

[And even those tiny movements are like lightning running through his raw nerves, given to overstimulation so soon after orgasm. He finds himself still over her, but bracing himself against the couch with both palms this time, and a shudder immediately wracks his body.

God.

Stupidly, hazy and addled, even though it's not the first time he's seen her practically flood like that:]

Are you okay?

Mmmmn ...

[ the tremors fade. she lays her cheek (hot, flushed) on the back of one of his hands. ]

Hhah.

[It’s not an affirmative, but Henry suspects she’d not hesitate to let him know if she were displeased.]

Hm.

[He doesn’t want to pull out just yet, even if his cock is softening inside of her. She’s snug and perfect, and he can feel the way he’s beginning to seep out. Lucidity, however, slowly seeps back in.

(They should have put a towel down, he thinks.)]

Don’t tell me you’re too worn out for kisses, now.

[ good, because she does not want to move yet, either. her body feels like an electric current just beneath the skin. uncomfortably humming. prickling.

all that forcefulness, drained away as quickly as he'd came. is that all it takes? is that how it will always be? ]

You are like flipping pages in book.

[He doesn’t quite cotton onto her meaning.]

What…?

One moment such intense maelstrom, then soft, as though it were never anything different.

[Is this... a complaint?]

Is that the side of me you want to see for longer, Sprezzatura?

[Controlling? Covering her mouth, holding the sounds she likes so much back? Fucking her like an animal, no care for her own pleasure?

A part of him... doubts it.]

I mean... what makes this change?

[ because she bit him? but why? he hadn't seemed that way as a boy. ]

Maybe it is not mattering right now.

[ an exhale, a sigh. she slips her hand over to hold his, still beneath her cheek. ]

[Why? He hasn't thought about it that much, really, but the truth is that he's a wildly different person now than he was when he was an anxious, awkward teen. There is a streak in him that's dark and unkind — the part that wants to claw out of him, enticed by violence. Seeking the control that he's always been denied. And the sting of pain amid pleasure? The warmth of his own blood (or someone else's)? How can that not harken back to these darker impulses?]

It's exciting. ...A threat that isn't really a threat, or pain that doesn't cross a line.

[Those darker pulses, but manifested in an Acceptable Way. And intimately, with the person he loves the most. What's not to like?

...Her touch is so warm. He should pull out of her, but he wouldn't mind staying like this a bit longer.]

But if you don't like it, you can tell me.

[ secretly... she likes that he hasn't pulled out yet. in some ways it's more connective to remain one after the moment of pleasure has passed.

murmured, ] My spanking.

[ her thumb drifts along the edge of his hand. ]

You are myriad surprises.

Mm-hm.

[Her spanking. A good example of these predilections, but one she could tell him she didn’t enjoy frames as punishment.

She can’t see it, but she can likely hear the small smile in his voice.]

Can’t have you getting bored of me.

[ yes... she can hear it. ]

Have I ever seemed so? You are new to me every day.

[Oh. Hearing that pleases him, warms him.]

No. You don’t seem like it at all. I’m just kidding.

[He turns his hand over to give hers a squeeze.]

[ some of her tension shifts; she moves her weight back, into his hips, onto his softening length, and nuzzles his hand. ]

I did not hate this.

[The mess they’ve made cannot help but eke out even more when she moves like that, but these are the only times when Henry Creel couldn’t care less. His fingertips brush against her horns.]

No? Good. I meant it when I said we should do it again next time.

[ she stays like that and wills him to continue, too. ]

I want to be completely full next time.

[Then that earns her some very gentle, very loving, and maybe a little tickly, stroking of her horns. Soft.]

Easy.

[He's so confident.]

[ ohhhh. perfectly still, so he doesn't stop ]

... I made mess.

[He won't stop.]

We did. [His portion of the, ah, "mess" will make itself known soon enough. Actually-]

Should I grab us something to clean up with?

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