The Quarry nsft self-insert fantasy

Imagining Travis handcuffing me with deceptively gentle fingers, my hands behind my back, and he pushes me to the ground, ordering me to lick his boots.

He calls me a filthy bootlicker, and while the pun isn’t lost on me, shame churns in my stomach alongside wide-hot arousal as I kiss and lick his boots, every now and then looking up at him.

When he decides he’s had enough fun watching me, he pulls me into standing position, guiding me towards the nearest wall, and takes me against it. His ragged breathing in my ear, one hand on my mouth, his scent completely overwhelming.

I’m lost in the wild, frothing sea, and he’s my anchor.