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.
[The sound he makes, wet and messy, is impossible to ignore as he pulls away. His lips are swollen and shining with saliva, and his blue eyes are almost imploring with a simple request.]
[Oh my god. There is no better way to encourage him to move around than by doing that, lifted in a way that he feels he must brace his hands against the sheets and fist his fingers into them.]
Fine.
[DENIED KISSES!! Huffy and flushed and a bit breathless, he turns himself around while still on his knees. There is not much dignity in the effort, but he supposes that is rather the point.]
[ it rather is. yes. she leans back and admires the view while he turns—finally a glimpse at the stiffness between his legs, but also the flush spreading down his back. she touches it, gently. spreads her fingers out.
[A flush spreading down his back in every direction. His complexion is pale enough that any excess blood flow will make his skin a pretty pink, and she has him quite heated by now.
He allows himself a shaky exhale, those fingers pull out, and he feels wanting. A dearth, strange, but not be stimulated at all. But for now, he does as asked, lifting his gaze to look in the mirror.
He is flushed to the point of looking harried if either of them didn't know better. It makes the blue of his eyes seem to shine brighter, almost lost between strands of hair that have fallen out of their coif and hover in his vision, instead. Like this, he is practically aglow.
But none of that matters. His gaze drifts up to her, instead; and she is beautiful and more important than all the rest. As always.]
[ look at him. just look at him. he is so reactionary that it nearly makes her laugh to see how his blush brings out the colour of his eyes. only nearly, though; she doesn't laugh. that would be mean, no?
rather, she crawls to kneel behind him, nearly over him, so that he can both feel the glass cock resting on his backside and her hand as she reaches forward and cups his throat and jaw from behind. ]
[How can he not be reactionary when someone like her is touching him, teasing him? He is the luckiest man in the world, even when she denies him.
The glass resting on his backside isn't even cold—not after how long it had been in his mouth—and yet it still makes him shiver. She will feel him swallow hard from beneath her fingers.]
[ her other hand goes to that length and adjusts the tip to press where he opens. just gently. she pours a little more oil into that tight space between them. not careful about keeping it from drizzling across his back and hips.
her chest is so tight. she flicks her eyes up to the mirror—wants to be looking him in the eye as she swivels her hips forward and breaches him. ]
[He tears his look away from the mirror, not because it is humiliating to see, or some other form of embarrassment, but because it surprises him. Harder, fuller, far more penetrating than what Mage Hand had been. Henry’s brows pinch together tightly, his mouth hangs half-open, a lilting ‘ahhh’ spilling out unbidden from his lips.
His face is tilted down slightly, but she’ll still get a lovely view of it from via the mirror’s reflection, and the way he once more curls his fingers into the sheets, wrinkling them without care.]
[ a little disappointing that he doesn't look. she can still see him blush so pretty, but he misses the flash of a contented smile across her lips. ]
And... push!
[ splays her fingers across his spine, at the small of his back, and swivels her hips some more. firmly. the glass length opens him around it and then holds him open.
deeper. deeper. she glances down at the diminishing length not yet buried in him. what a pretty hole, stretched around her so tight. rubs her thumb into his rim where it hugs the glass. ]
[It really is the surprise of it that feels so jarring. The question that always floats to the top of his head, in those sudden sensations: Is this really how it feels for her?
She needn't worry. He will lift his eyes, through the fallen strands of his hair, to catch her expression through the looking glass, just in time for her to push forward.
The stretch is even keener, or feels that way, as the tight rim of his muscle hugs onto the glass with futility. She plunges deeper, and- Ah-... god. All the fainter sensations, her fingers, how she rubs around his rim, really are secondary to all else.
Yeah, she's losing his gaze again, as Henry lowers his forehead to rest against the sheets and just. Moans.]
[ when Henry moans, Sprezzatura moans. perhaps it's mawkish, but she cannot help it; the quality of his voice paired with the rarity of the sound sends a lightning bolt of heat through her. and another, then again. he's bowed forward on the bed already, before she's even truly begun her work. incredible.
gorgeous.
with a little satisfied grunt and a small wriggle of her hips, she hilts herself. ]
There: all of me.
[ using the term loosely. she drapes down across his back and lays her cheek upon his shoulder blade. ]
[For a man who has never been fucked like this before, it feels like nearly too much. Even that little wiggle, when she's snug inside of him, seems to move his very insides.
The warmth of her body, spread against his back, ironically makes him shiver. Pleasantly.
[Oh, he feels it, all right. So foreign a feeling that it seems more amplified than it really is, like his insides are making way for the glass cock shifting inside of him.
He loves her dearly, of course, and appreciates her in equal measure. But that appreciation is rising as he tries to imagine how it might feel to take more. His Sprezzatura is so undeniably... talented.]
she sinks down against his back with a sudden exhale, a heavy sigh, so that their warmed skin presses together and her breath tickles his nape. arms around from behind: wrapping his waist. she is all over him, so small yet so encompassing. that's what she hopes. ]
[Practically enveloped by her. Henry could stay like this forever, Sprezzatura completely encompassing him despite her small frame. It's a comfort, makes his heart beat harder, having nothing to do with the hard glass seated inside of him.
But he breathes out, warm. Straightens himself on his elbows, ever so slightly; not pushing against her body, but simply a gesture of effort.]
I am ready...
[He never said he wanted to pause, despite himself. He pushes his backside... backwards, for what little leeway there is, but even that small millimeter change of position, sinking inside of him, almost wrenches free another groan from his mouth.]
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finalflight2024-12-26 07:22 pm
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?
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[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.
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Don’t I get a kiss for being good first?
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No. Turn around.
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Sprezzatura… please?
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[ hoists him higher, again by the rim ]
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Fine.
[DENIED KISSES!! Huffy and flushed and a bit breathless, he turns himself around while still on his knees. There is not much dignity in the effort, but he supposes that is rather the point.]
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the fingers inside him recede in tandem. ]
Look in mirror.
no subject
He allows himself a shaky exhale, those fingers pull out, and he feels wanting. A dearth, strange, but not be stimulated at all. But for now, he does as asked, lifting his gaze to look in the mirror.
He is flushed to the point of looking harried if either of them didn't know better. It makes the blue of his eyes seem to shine brighter, almost lost between strands of hair that have fallen out of their coif and hover in his vision, instead. Like this, he is practically aglow.
But none of that matters. His gaze drifts up to her, instead; and she is beautiful and more important than all the rest. As always.]
Hello there, you.
no subject
[ look at him. just look at him. he is so reactionary that it nearly makes her laugh to see how his blush brings out the colour of his eyes. only nearly, though; she doesn't laugh. that would be mean, no?
rather, she crawls to kneel behind him, nearly over him, so that he can both feel the glass cock resting on his backside and her hand as she reaches forward and cups his throat and jaw from behind. ]
You are ready?
no subject
The glass resting on his backside isn't even cold—not after how long it had been in his mouth—and yet it still makes him shiver. She will feel him swallow hard from beneath her fingers.]
Yes.
no subject
[ her other hand goes to that length and adjusts the tip to press where he opens. just gently. she pours a little more oil into that tight space between them. not careful about keeping it from drizzling across his back and hips.
her chest is so tight. she flicks her eyes up to the mirror—wants to be looking him in the eye as she swivels her hips forward and breaches him. ]
Pop!
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His face is tilted down slightly, but she’ll still get a lovely view of it from via the mirror’s reflection, and the way he once more curls his fingers into the sheets, wrinkling them without care.]
Fuck.
[That stretch.]
no subject
And... push!
[ splays her fingers across his spine, at the small of his back, and swivels her hips some more. firmly. the glass length opens him around it and then holds him open.
deeper. deeper. she glances down at the diminishing length not yet buried in him. what a pretty hole, stretched around her so tight. rubs her thumb into his rim where it hugs the glass. ]
no subject
She needn't worry. He will lift his eyes, through the fallen strands of his hair, to catch her expression through the looking glass, just in time for her to push forward.
The stretch is even keener, or feels that way, as the tight rim of his muscle hugs onto the glass with futility. She plunges deeper, and- Ah-... god. All the fainter sensations, her fingers, how she rubs around his rim, really are secondary to all else.
Yeah, she's losing his gaze again, as Henry lowers his forehead to rest against the sheets and just. Moans.]
How...
no subject
gorgeous.
with a little satisfied grunt and a small wriggle of her hips, she hilts herself. ]
There: all of me.
[ using the term loosely. she drapes down across his back and lays her cheek upon his shoulder blade. ]
It is not so much, hm?
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The warmth of her body, spread against his back, ironically makes him shiver. Pleasantly.
Muffled against the sheets.]
It's a lot.
[But it's not bad. He doesn't dislike it.]
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I take more than this when you do me. You will not tear in two.
[ wriggles again. she wants him to feel it, that hilted length moving inside. ]
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He loves her dearly, of course, and appreciates her in equal measure. But that appreciation is rising as he tries to imagine how it might feel to take more. His Sprezzatura is so undeniably... talented.]
Then help me... feel used to it.
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she sinks down against his back with a sudden exhale, a heavy sigh, so that their warmed skin presses together and her breath tickles his nape. arms around from behind: wrapping his waist. she is all over him, so small yet so encompassing. that's what she hopes. ]
You move when you are ready.
no subject
But he breathes out, warm. Straightens himself on his elbows, ever so slightly; not pushing against her body, but simply a gesture of effort.]
I am ready...
[He never said he wanted to pause, despite himself. He pushes his backside... backwards, for what little leeway there is, but even that small millimeter change of position, sinking inside of him, almost wrenches free another groan from his mouth.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
ignore the blood my paid ran out