Genre: Smut, Fluff(?)
Warning(s): explicit sexual situations, choking, language
Deep: penetrating; profound; intense; saturated. His voice—gravely and baritone. His emotions— overwhelming and immersive. His body—penetrating; permeating; piercing deep, deep, deep within your own; the base of his thick and heavy cock smothering and smearing and gliding over your lower lips, his languid thrusts mocking your labored breathing.
In and out. In and out. In and out— the soft squelching of your sticky substance, gradually leaking from your joyously clenching hole. Massive and heavy, his hand— caressing and stroking your tender throat, his fingers massaging the sensitive sides, constricting your airflow, fueling your flame. Eyelids heavy, pupils dilated, eyes locked, an aspectabund painting, reflecting, mirroring— penetrating; profound; intense; saturated. So, so many emotions.
Your breath stutters and his head lowers, his lips mesh against your own, his nostrils spreading as wide as your weak legs, releasing a breath logged deep beneath his lungs. His tongue balters, clumsily and passionately dancing against your own; the rough texture enticing and welcoming. Swollen and bruised your lips part, a sincere smile faltering from his face, contorting into a concentrated frown as hips pick up pace and rut against your own. His hand leaves your neck, and both paws find solace at your ankles, shoving your feet next to your head.
A husky “hmmmm,” vibrates from his throat, the head of his veiny obstruction slithering against your walls, heavy and hushed whispers slipping pass his lips, a lullaby that caresses your eardrums: “My baby girl takes my cock so well.” Liquid lust pools down to the bottom of your stomach. You whimper and moan, his right hand abandoning your ankle to crowd your pleading clit, furiously gliding his hand back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth.
“My pretty girl is close?” A question that need not be answered, but is unwillingly so, your head nodding against your own volition, your fingers clinching the nape of his flushed neck, pulling him down to press against your person. He lays his body flat against your own, the fingers of both hands intertwining between the strands protruding from your scalp, his pelvis smothering your vulva in intense heat, his hips taking care to slide and swivel and swirl across your roused clit.
One word—penetrating; profound; intense; saturated—tipping you over the edge, releasing you, freeing you, shifting you from one state of being to another, mastering his lips and echoing behind your eyes: “Cum.”
Disoriented and disheveled, overwhelmed and scatterbrained, fragments of cohesiveness falling from your drooling, salivating mouth. “Juhh—Jay—John—Fuck! Johnny!” A tight clenching of your hair, the jutting and rutting of his hips, the muffled smacking of his balls against your ass, a husky and resonating “fuck!” and then, deep, deep, deep inside your tight, suffocating walls, an ocean of white emotion and stimulation and love, crowds and crams and saturates your hungry sopping hole.
Saline droplets drip from his nose, and your hot breaths intermingle. Your eyes relax and shut close, your forehead smooths out its wrinkles and a smile uncontrollably adorns your flushed face. His hands release your hair and slide beneath your back to envelope your overheated frame, melting his body into your own. Tiny compared to his own, your fingers lace through his sweaty hair, massaging their way down his neck and all the way down to trace over the vertebrae of his spine. The calm after the storm, the relief after an exam, the soothing after an itch. Relaxation. Peace. Contentment.
A soft vibration, an unintelligible phrase tickling your neck. His words are muffled, but you can discern, an effervescent chuckle prefacing your truthful and heartfelt reply. “I love you, too, Johnny.”
Deeply.© 2017 TOUCHEFRAPPE