[Maybe she’s a little bit right. Maybe she’s teasing.]
Anyone else would call this brazen.
[But no, he knows what she wants to see: his lips sealing around the tip of the cock, kissing gently and wetly. And then lowering, to take it in slowly, a few inches at a time.
[ can she help that he has such plush lips, and that she's sure they would look perfect wrapped around a pretty cock? indeed, when he begins to take the length, her chin lifts and her throat bobs in a dry swallow. oh, she was right to think that—like she always is, about everything.
the hand at his nape curls properly, now, and holds firm for every inch which glides between his lips. there will be no backing out of this for Henry Creel. she will see him hilted. ]
What is it when I am doing it, hm?
[ he can't answer. it's how she likes it. her free hand moves lazily, and the spectral, skeletal Mage Hand in her employ wisps into being. it grasps for the forgotten vial of oil and dangles it in the air just above the small of his back. ]
[Ah, he about expected her grip to turn into one that holds him in place. She wants him… all the way down, no doubt, and Henry sees no issue with it. in another verse she stuck her tongue all the way down his throat so this is easy mode
Unaware or uncaring of the Mage Hand-guided vial hovering above him, he sinks down even lower, until the glass practically bumps against the back of his throat. His tongue flattens against its underside — not that she can feel it.
His heart feels in his ears again. Despite being naked to the room, there is a flush crawling down from his neck to between his shoulder blades.]
[ a flush that Sprezzatura happily traces with the tips of her nails. she cannot feel the physical pleasure of his tongue and his lips, but the psychological pleasure is playing havoc with her mind. she wishes—so much... she wishes she had the proper anatomy, just once. she wishes the glass were just a little softer, that she could press into his throat and fuck it the way she suddenly and wildly wants to.
pop! the Mage Hand thumbs the cap off the oil. she digs her nails into his spine once, not too unkindly, before reaching up and taking the vial. the Hand turns palm-up and waits for her to pour the oil across its fingers. ]
[Oh. He definitely hears that pop. Someone’s playing with the oil — and the muscles in his back flex in accordance with the pressure of her nails, and instinctive anticipation.
Raises his head just centimeters enough to give his throat some leeway, then eases back down. He sucks, performs a swallow, but it really just is that when dealing with glass: performative.]
Beautiful to look at. Makes me want to fuck your throat properly.
[ until her jaw aches and he spends straight down her throat. no choice but to swallow. now, she wishes direly to be able to feel the squeeze of Henry's throat around the glass. she imagines it must be divine. like the tug and pull of her nipples inside his mouth, but magnified by the hundreds.
still, she rucks her hips forward just so. really seating herself—
the Mage Hand, glistening, extends it slim forefinger and glides it up his perineum. her eyes flick towards the mirror and watch. ]
[Indeed, he's got it easy — nothing forcing itself down his throat to swallow. Just the show of it. In his mind, it isn't so bad; just holding the gag reflex gently at bay. Perhaps one day he will know the effort she exerts every time she takes him into her mouth.
And then her hips go forward and he does have to muffled-sputter a little, faintly, because of course even this is not as easy as he thinks.
...But he takes her in, all the same. Shifts on his knees a little as he feels "her" cold finger glide against him.]
[ well. the effect of this is not quite the same when he can continue talking and talking and talking and talking as though she isn't pushing glass towards the back of his throat. ]
[ leans forward and smacks one of his buttocks. hard. ]
You wish to be dealt with by firm hand. Understood.
[ by its very nature, Mage Hand cannot be rough. but it can be swift, and that lazy trailing touch ends in a wet fingertip poised firmly at his hole. Sprezzatura grabs up his cheek and parts it so that she can see in the mirror as her Mage Hand suddenly and fully surges forward. the entire length of a spectral finger, immediately swallowed up and hilted. invasive and cold as Stygia. he is given no special consideration; each knuckle swallows up with a quick pop!
she pushes down on the back of his head with her free hand. ]
[This is one way to shut him up, even telepathically.
The spank might've made him jolt, and pleasantly, really, but it is the start of something else far more surprising. That finger slips in, wet and cold and all the way up without much warning at all. And IMMEDIATELY, all Henry can do is straighten in surprise, and via instinct he opens his mouth to remark, but...
His mouth is already occupied, and now pushed back down, and the result is that the cock bumps the back of his throat without any mental preparation, and he sputters and coughs on it, shoulders shaking. For what good it does, after all, still having a mouthful.]
[ there, she thinks—not unkindly, necessarily, but with a small tinge of pleasure nonetheless. now he knows a little better what it's like. thumb-strokes at his nape, but she does not pull out, and rather lets him cough around the glass. ]
Shhh-h-h-h-h.
[ all the way in. a slow, downward pressure of the finger pushing at his walls from the inside. alllllll the way out. it circles his hole.
[DON'T YOU SHUSH HIM-- The sensation is so new and so sudden that it's as though she's taken a relentless turn with him, and he cannot even be grateful for the cock plugging up his more embarrassing, surprised sounds. They still spill from the back of his throat, guttural. Somehow, that's almost worse.
He remembers to breathe through his nose, a gust of it exhaling, trying to swallow down the instinct to cough again. She'll not let him raise his head, and clearly she doesn't intend to relent because she's not pulling out, either. A tinge of her pleasure bounces around in his own mind, but all of that is secondary to the feeling of that Mage Hand's cool finger sliding in, stretching his walls, a fullness that he knows would not even compare to that glass cock filling him instead.
His heart thuds. He braces harder against her thigh. And, insanely, replies-]
[ oh. but he is a quick mess, isn't he? from soft smiles to little pretty noises around her cock in the span of just a few gentle... twisting... motions. her mouth curls wider, and as his hand braces and his voice drifts across her mind, she—
leans forward and smacks his backside again. like she means it. ]
[!! Jolts even more, the sting hot across his buttock, fiery and painful. Henry, who has no issue at all acknowledging such, finds it utterly arousing, and it's too bad the cock suddenly deepens against the back of his throat thanks to the movement, interrupting this heat in his belly.
Mentally braces himself against the instinct to cough again. He cannot, however, do much about that strange, utterly exotic feeling of a finger gently twisting in his hole, shifting uselessly on his knees as he's tended to. A-ah... God. Is this what it feels like for her?]
[ pulls her hips back, granting him sweet reprieve. her Hand pulls languidly out, only for the middle finger to unfurl and join index at his rim. they toy with it, nudging at the pucker, slicking the skin, stretching at him without actually entering. and when she does beckon it slide back into Henry, it is only one finger again. but firmly.
[The reprieve is enough to make it feel like his throat isn’t overfull, though his mouth is still sealed around the glass — but comparatively, this is easy, and his tongue massages at the slick underside in this moment of respite.
Which doesn’t last long.
Henry stiffens somewhat when he feels that second finger toy at his entrance. He wonders if she can feel it, the way his hole flutters against it in surprise, simply not used to that stimulation. He stretches with the tautness of a man never really touched there, and his fingers flex in the same rhythm, digging against her thigh.
Do it or don’t, he wants to say. He wants to think it at her. But then she— doesn’t. Only one finger dives in, just like before, but the movement is different. It’s more. Fuck. What a foreign, invasive feeling. Like it’s alive inside, pushing against him in angles previously unknown. He… doesn’t hate it.
He only wishes he could have swallowed down the almost mewling sound that escaped him, inhaling a gasp around the cock still seated in his mouth.]
[ it is alive inside, after a manner of speaking. twisting and hooking, building up a consistent motion of all the way in, nearly all the way out. she has to imagine the flutter.
moves her hips gently up again, hilting in his mouth for but a moment. she relaxes. she pushes up again. she relaxes. it's a steady fucking at both ends; something which might prompt more of those kittenish sounds that go right to her core and tingle there. ]
Now, stretch...
[ on the outstroke, Mage Hand curls index and middle finger together urgh one another, so that middle is hooked above the other; still a narrow tip to seek entry, but as it corkscrews both fingers slowly into Henry's twitching and wet hole, the stacked knuckles will feel almost like a knot forcing its way in. ]
The glass hilts itself in his mouth, then eases back. Continues, repeats, and he finds that is an easy rhythm to fall into. Predictable, and often followed by relief when it seems as though it might have slipped back just a bit too deep.
But whatever the hell he’s doing back there with that Mage Hand… That’s a different matter altogether. She tells him to stretch as though he has any choice. What he suspects must be more than one finger winds in, widening him to an apex in a way that seems forceful — at least to a man who has never experienced this before. It is not quite enough for pain, but certainly nudging on discomfort, and…
Again, he doesn’t hate it.
Though he is keenly aware of the humiliation from both sides.]
You might as well use the glass at this rate.
[The petulance inherent in his telepathic tone does not override the noises he’s making, hands slipping away and onto the sheets on either side of her thighs, clutching hard into them. He sounds pathetic and, despite himself, pleasured — and pushes back slightly on his knees as though to encourage her in further.]
[ a steady rhythm is one of the most important aspects of fucking someone's throat. she takes it more gently, now, as he begins to squirm and clutch the sheets, though it's difficult to—the sight and sound of him gets her heart going so fast in her chest that it hurts. and it makes her face hot. and all her skin tingles. ]
No. You are not ready for it.
[ he pushes back, and the knuckles stretch past his rim. pop!. two fingers seated firmly inside. they twist, with gentle insistence, in a clockwise circle. again, again, again.
to soothe him she strokes through his hair with her fingers. ]
[Again, a response in her head that is so quick it's definitely petulant:]
And what makes you so sure of that?
[He feels like he's on fire, and if he focuses all that energy into his telepathy, maybe his noises won't be quite as needy, even if they keen lower in wayward pleasure.
This hope is completely upended when she stretches past his rim and settles those fingers right inside of him, and he all but moans around the glass. Her fingers in his hair would normally soothe, yes, but there is nothing but the awareness of that movement inside of him, how odd it feels, how invasive, how pleasant in a way he never quite understood, but only trusted that it must feel nice if Sprezzatura deems it so.
Just... clenches a little tighter at her knees, anchoring himself. Henry closes his eyes.]
[ like a child being denied the plaything he so desperately wants. she pets and pets his hair, smoothing it back into perfect place, as his body takes the coupled fingers and jumps all over for it. he is so... cute.
look at him. he's cute. clutching her knees and closing his eyes to accept the treatment. testing, her Mage Hand angles higher, urging his hips up by lifting him at the hole. ]
[That's a noise of surprise, lifting him like that. Moved around like he was little more than a doll being played with, and given the track record with how he's used his powers in the past, it's ironic. His backside angles higher.
He doesn't open his eyes, though, brow still cinched. He cannot deny that when he is under her control, he experiences not indignity but jolts of thrill, over and over. Henry feels it too, in his cock, and his telepathic reply is not one of words, but of feeling: lust, heat, a little bit of vulnerability. And yes, affirmation. He can feel the blood rushing to his length even more than before, at attention between his legs. She cannot see it from this angle.]
[ welcome to how it feels to be posed and played with, Henry. enjoy the stay.
she's already fond of the view—his face nestled close to her, his brow pinched, and his backside slowly moving higher—and has one hand still soothing through his hair. then that feeling hits, or it bleeds out, or fades over, finding its way into her through her pores and her breath and her mind, it's her mind, this sense of desire that is not hers but by virtue of being felt by her is hers. her breath knocks from her. warmth and vibrant colour rise in her face, and how.
the way her heartbeat thumps in her chest is, momentarily, as though there were two pulses thrumming.
Mammon. gods. it's hard to speak. ]
Ah-h-hh—... [ a shaky inhale. more steadily: ] Turn around.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vecna) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
finalflight2024-12-26 07:22 pm
no subject
That actually interrupts his little show, though, making him almost-sputter out a laugh.]
You call this coy?
no subject
no subject
Anyone else would call this brazen.
[But no, he knows what she wants to see: his lips sealing around the tip of the cock, kissing gently and wetly. And then lowering, to take it in slowly, a few inches at a time.
So… he does precisely that.]
no subject
the hand at his nape curls properly, now, and holds firm for every inch which glides between his lips. there will be no backing out of this for Henry Creel. she will see him hilted. ]
What is it when I am doing it, hm?
[ he can't answer. it's how she likes it. her free hand moves lazily, and the spectral, skeletal Mage Hand in her employ wisps into being. it grasps for the forgotten vial of oil and dangles it in the air just above the small of his back. ]
no subject
[Ah, he about expected her grip to turn into one that holds him in place. She wants him… all the way down, no doubt, and Henry sees no issue with it.
in another verse she stuck her tongue all the way down his throat so this is easy modeUnaware or uncaring of the Mage Hand-guided vial hovering above him, he sinks down even lower, until the glass practically bumps against the back of his throat. His tongue flattens against its underside — not that she can feel it.
His heart feels in his ears again. Despite being naked to the room, there is a flush crawling down from his neck to between his shoulder blades.]
no subject
[ a flush that Sprezzatura happily traces with the tips of her nails. she cannot feel the physical pleasure of his tongue and his lips, but the psychological pleasure is playing havoc with her mind. she wishes—so much... she wishes she had the proper anatomy, just once. she wishes the glass were just a little softer, that she could press into his throat and fuck it the way she suddenly and wildly wants to.
pop!
the Mage Hand thumbs the cap off the oil. she digs her nails into his spine once, not too unkindly, before reaching up and taking the vial. the Hand turns palm-up and waits for her to pour the oil across its fingers. ]
no subject
Raises his head just centimeters enough to give his throat some leeway, then eases back down. He sucks, performs a swallow, but it really just is that when dealing with glass: performative.]
no subject
[ until her jaw aches and he spends straight down her throat. no choice but to swallow. now, she wishes direly to be able to feel the squeeze of Henry's throat around the glass. she imagines it must be divine. like the tug and pull of her nipples inside his mouth, but magnified by the hundreds.
still, she rucks her hips forward just so. really seating herself—
the Mage Hand, glistening, extends it slim forefinger and glides it up his perineum. her eyes flick towards the mirror and watch. ]
no subject
And then her hips go forward and he does have to muffled-sputter a little, faintly, because of course even this is not as easy as he thinks.
...But he takes her in, all the same. Shifts on his knees a little as he feels "her" cold finger glide against him.]
/2
no subject
You wish to be dealt with by firm hand. Understood.
[ by its very nature, Mage Hand cannot be rough. but it can be swift, and that lazy trailing touch ends in a wet fingertip poised firmly at his hole. Sprezzatura grabs up his cheek and parts it so that she can see in the mirror as her Mage Hand suddenly and fully surges forward. the entire length of a spectral finger, immediately swallowed up and hilted. invasive and cold as Stygia. he is given no special consideration; each knuckle swallows up with a quick pop!
she pushes down on the back of his head with her free hand. ]
no subject
The spank might've made him jolt, and pleasantly, really, but it is the start of something else far more surprising. That finger slips in, wet and cold and all the way up without much warning at all. And IMMEDIATELY, all Henry can do is straighten in surprise, and via instinct he opens his mouth to remark, but...
His mouth is already occupied, and now pushed back down, and the result is that the cock bumps the back of his throat without any mental preparation, and he sputters and coughs on it, shoulders shaking. For what good it does, after all, still having a mouthful.]
no subject
Shhh-h-h-h-h.
[ all the way in. a slow, downward pressure of the finger pushing at his walls from the inside. alllllll the way out. it circles his hole.
in again. ]
no subject
He remembers to breathe through his nose, a gust of it exhaling, trying to swallow down the instinct to cough again. She'll not let him raise his head, and clearly she doesn't intend to relent because she's not pulling out, either. A tinge of her pleasure bounces around in his own mind, but all of that is secondary to the feeling of that Mage Hand's cool finger sliding in, stretching his walls, a fullness that he knows would not even compare to that glass cock filling him instead.
His heart thuds. He braces harder against her thigh. And, insanely, replies-]
no subject
leans forward and smacks his backside again. like she means it. ]
You are trying to urge me on.
no subject
Mentally braces himself against the instinct to cough again. He cannot, however, do much about that strange, utterly exotic feeling of a finger gently twisting in his hole, shifting uselessly on his knees as he's tended to. A-ah... God. Is this what it feels like for her?]
no subject
[ pulls her hips back, granting him sweet reprieve. her Hand pulls languidly out, only for the middle finger to unfurl and join index at his rim. they toy with it, nudging at the pucker, slicking the skin, stretching at him without actually entering. and when she does beckon it slide back into Henry, it is only one finger again. but firmly.
and it works at him from the inside. ]
no subject
Which doesn’t last long.
Henry stiffens somewhat when he feels that second finger toy at his entrance. He wonders if she can feel it, the way his hole flutters against it in surprise, simply not used to that stimulation. He stretches with the tautness of a man never really touched there, and his fingers flex in the same rhythm, digging against her thigh.
Do it or don’t, he wants to say. He wants to think it at her. But then she— doesn’t. Only one finger dives in, just like before, but the movement is different. It’s more. Fuck. What a foreign, invasive feeling. Like it’s alive inside, pushing against him in angles previously unknown. He… doesn’t hate it.
He only wishes he could have swallowed down the almost mewling sound that escaped him, inhaling a gasp around the cock still seated in his mouth.]
no subject
moves her hips gently up again, hilting in his mouth for but a moment. she relaxes. she pushes up again. she relaxes. it's a steady fucking at both ends; something which might prompt more of those kittenish sounds that go right to her core and tingle there. ]
Now, stretch...
[ on the outstroke, Mage Hand curls index and middle finger together urgh one another, so that middle is hooked above the other; still a narrow tip to seek entry, but as it corkscrews both fingers slowly into Henry's twitching and wet hole, the stacked knuckles will feel almost like a knot forcing its way in. ]
no subject
The glass hilts itself in his mouth, then eases back. Continues, repeats, and he finds that is an easy rhythm to fall into. Predictable, and often followed by relief when it seems as though it might have slipped back just a bit too deep.
But whatever the hell he’s doing back there with that Mage Hand… That’s a different matter altogether. She tells him to stretch as though he has any choice. What he suspects must be more than one finger winds in, widening him to an apex in a way that seems forceful — at least to a man who has never experienced this before. It is not quite enough for pain, but certainly nudging on discomfort, and…
Again, he doesn’t hate it.
Though he is keenly aware of the humiliation from both sides.]
[The petulance inherent in his telepathic tone does not override the noises he’s making, hands slipping away and onto the sheets on either side of her thighs, clutching hard into them. He sounds pathetic and, despite himself, pleasured — and pushes back slightly on his knees as though to encourage her in further.]
no subject
No. You are not ready for it.
[ he pushes back, and the knuckles stretch past his rim. pop!. two fingers seated firmly inside. they twist, with gentle insistence, in a clockwise circle. again, again, again.
to soothe him she strokes through his hair with her fingers. ]
no subject
[He feels like he's on fire, and if he focuses all that energy into his telepathy, maybe his noises won't be quite as needy, even if they keen lower in wayward pleasure.
This hope is completely upended when she stretches past his rim and settles those fingers right inside of him, and he all but moans around the glass. Her fingers in his hair would normally soothe, yes, but there is nothing but the awareness of that movement inside of him, how odd it feels, how invasive, how pleasant in a way he never quite understood, but only trusted that it must feel nice if Sprezzatura deems it so.
Just... clenches a little tighter at her knees, anchoring himself. Henry closes his eyes.]
no subject
look at him. he's cute. clutching her knees and closing his eyes to accept the treatment. testing, her Mage Hand angles higher, urging his hips up by lifting him at the hole. ]
Do you feel it in your pretty little length? Hm?
no subject
[That's a noise of surprise, lifting him like that. Moved around like he was little more than a doll being played with, and given the track record with how he's used his powers in the past, it's ironic. His backside angles higher.
He doesn't open his eyes, though, brow still cinched. He cannot deny that when he is under her control, he experiences not indignity but jolts of thrill, over and over. Henry feels it too, in his cock, and his telepathic reply is not one of words, but of feeling: lust, heat, a little bit of vulnerability. And yes, affirmation. He can feel the blood rushing to his length even more than before, at attention between his legs. She cannot see it from this angle.]
no subject
she's already fond of the view—his face nestled close to her, his brow pinched, and his backside slowly moving higher—and has one hand still soothing through his hair. then that feeling hits, or it bleeds out, or fades over, finding its way into her through her pores and her breath and her mind, it's her mind, this sense of desire that is not hers but by virtue of being felt by her is hers. her breath knocks from her. warmth and vibrant colour rise in her face, and how.
the way her heartbeat thumps in her chest is, momentarily, as though there were two pulses thrumming.
Mammon. gods. it's hard to speak. ]
Ah-h-hh—... [ a shaky inhale. more steadily: ] Turn around.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
ignore the blood my paid ran out