I just want to wine and dine a cutie till their cheeks are flushed pink, their eyes are half-closed from being pleasantly sated and their shirt has ridden up on their rounded, stuffed tummy ❤️
I like the way you’re towering over me. In height, in weight, strength… I like that you’d dominate me with ease if that was what you wanted to do and, let’s be honest, I wouldnt say no. I’d run my mouth, always full of dirty witty words, I’d suck marks on you skin, I’d whine and try to act like I’m not losing myself below you, your body holding me down, against, hell, even up if that’s what would please you. Your large hands squeezing me so tight I’d have bruises on my ribs, hips, thighs and God knows where the next day, your teeth more and less gently scratching my skin, a nibble here, a lick there…
“Good boy.”
I’d be all yours.
But…
The way you’d look on my dick, so desperate to feel me fill you you’re not even paying attention to how much of your bodyweight is resting on my much smaller hips when you’re not hoisting yourself up. Your hair wild and sweaty, sticking to your forehead, mouth agape, hot puffs of air warming my naked chest. Wide planes of flushed skin and the way your muscles twitch below the softness I adore so much, the way you move, a bit lazily, enjoying every second of the act and the sweet nothings and praises I can’t help but offer you, over and over. You truly are mesmerising.
You whine the moment my hand leaves your side, even though the other is still resting on the place where your thigh and groin meet, inches from your leaking length (I know I’m teasing, baby, but you love it so much).
“Shh,” I tell you, as my thumb presses to the underside of your manhood, and your grip on my shoulders strengthens for a moment. You can’t come just yet. “Time for a treat.”
Your movements slow down, brown eyes hungrily following my fingers as I pick a piece of brownie from the nearly empty plate that’s laying on the mattress, and lift it to your handsome face.
“Open you mouth for me.”
You do, of course you do.
You’re both chewing steadily and lifting your hips, thighs trembling from effort.
“You’re doing so well, sweetheart. You’re doing so well for me. Getting a bit chubby here and there, eh? You look so pretty like this, you know? Blushing and hot and heavy. All mine.”
You moan around a mouthful of cake, cheeks rosy from warmth and embarrassment and lips coated with chocolate.
It’s not that I’m skilled with my left hand, but God, I need you to feel what you’re doing to me, what your body’s doing to me…
The back of my hand is touching your rounded stomach as I stroke you.
“More,” you plead after you swallow, taking me so deep I nearly see stars. I know you’re doing this for me, and that’s what’s so hot and so delightfully sinful about all of this - control.
I pull your head down for a kiss before I feed you another slice, our lips crushing together, your beard scratching my face ever so slightly. I suck on your sugary tongue, licking further into your mouth and, fuck, you’re letting me do all of this with a hazy smile and cock resting in my hand.
It’s intoxicating.
Bite after a bite after a bite more dough disappears into your stomach, and lick after a lick my palm gets cleared from crumbs and sticky with saliva. You look ravaged, torn at the edges, feverish from arousal and waiting, waiting for climax to come.
“Fuck,” you hiccup, body jerking, palm coming to cradle your heavy stomach. Poor baby. “F-faster.”
I oblige, peaking up the pace of my movements.
And when you come, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You always are.
