11-11-2017, 11:17 PM
You're looking at an absolute zero;
I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.
The wonder of her soft and gentle kiss across his own whiskered lips is enough to intoxicate him, rendering him breathless and heady with a strong, pulsating arousal stirring beneath the swell of his barrel. Slowly, carefully, her mouth caresses the strong line of his jawbone, as the warmth of her breath awakens his need to covet her, to feel her writhe beneath him and quiver around him with each methodical stroke. He is lost to the imagery of drawing her nearer, of chasing away the anguish of her open, gaping wound, of bringing forth gasping murmurs of delight and pleasure from the hearth of her chest where her wildly beating heart lay. I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.
When she presses closer to him, he cannot keep the darkness of his mouth from stroking each inch of exposed skin with teeth and with warm breath, exhaled with the low grumbling of a growl in his tightening throat. Each fervent kiss causes him to pulsate, to throb, his growing desire for her evident in the way he flinches and twitches with each inadvertent caress – a pearl of lubrication surging from the tip and trailing down the length of his erection. He can hardly stand the stillness in between each soft but lurid kiss; virility and youth both course furiously through his veins with renewed vigor, his age forgotten with each elicited moan and charged movement.
Her lips finally press against his own, ardent and passionate, and a guttural groan is pulled from his chest, rumbling against the softness of her parted lips. He cannot keep from feeling lightheaded as he crosses the soft curve of her jaw to her throat, tracing the column of her neck with his lips and with his teeth, blunt but pressed gently against the tender skin. He can feel her laughter reverberate against his mouth, with a hitch to follow when his lips find an intimate place to send a shiver of delight down the curve of her spine to where her wet, aching folds await his caress. She refuses his feeble attempt to urge her to rest, to quiet the longing for her stirring within the pit of his stomach, pressing into the dark ridge of his shoulder as her lithe, feminine curves move seamlessly against the hardened muscle of his own.
His teeth gently part and press into the supple flesh of her spine, trailing down to her croup as she presses past him, encircling him slowly. Enticingly. The broad plane of his cheek caresses the roundness of her backside, where his lips find the feminine curve of her buttocks. All the while, the heat of her searching lips encounters the sensitive underside of his barrel, where scarring of old lay, where his arousal lay, tightened and throbbing with the sensation of her warm breath tracing its length. A low and guttural groan is pressed against the bend of her rump as her long and tousled tail brings him closer with the heady scent of her desire, and just when his muzzle is buried beneath, just when his lips find the most intimate part of her –
”Liz,” he breathes, awestruck and his erection twitches, hard and leaking with desire from the heat of her soft and subtle kiss, rousing a slumbering beast somewhere within. The fire within his gaze is heavy, no longer a flickering ember, but a blazing inferno. He does not laugh – he is beyond humor, though he is irresistibly attracted to the tantalizing lilt of her cadence and the humor within, wanting to hear more of it. Wanting to hear her crying out in ecstasy, thighs dampened with her need and with his seed, pleading for him to take her again, and again. And he would.
Still want to take a nap?
”No,” comes the rumbling growl, the single syllable caught within his throat – his lips finding her skin with urgency, tracing the dappling of each mark tracing the curve of her hipbone and down to the sensitive muscle of her thigh. Plucking gently at the delicate flesh, his teeth and lips press kiss after nip after gentle bite across the heat of her thigh, slowly trailing up to where she is parted for him. Glistening with desire where the flushed skin of her vulva lay parted, the plush velvet of his nose caresses her, enveloping him in the scent of her womanhood as she writhes beneath his touch.
Nostrils flaring, the heat of his breath is all that touches her desire, teasing the sensitive knot of her clitoris with his tongue – slow, deliberate, drawing out each gasp and moan of delight from the one who had so fiercely and so furiously taken his heart, folding into the depth of her cavern while he pulsates below, yearning to take her. Longing to covet her, to move inside of her rhythmically, stroke after stroke - not yet, not yet - and his lips find the hidden button to unravel her. She teased him, demure and coy in her feather-light caress of his manhood, pulling the darkness of his need and the intensity of his craving for her – but he cannot stop after the first hitch of breath; after the first lascivious moan.
He cannot (will not) stop until she is thrashing beneath the stroke of his wanting mouth, until she is unraveling from the heat of his lips encircling her trembling core, until she is spent and begging him to fill her.
To bring her to completion, again and again.
OFFSPRING
another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.