So I put my mouth over one, and suck hard.
I feel him—not move, exactly, but something. A micro-tremor. A fine vibration just under the skin. Like a phone left on silent, buzzing in a drawer far away. He’s shaking in there while showing me nothing on the outside.
His chest is big and juicy, and it looks just as delicious as it tastes. I work across it—a little too sloppy, but whatever—putting my mouth where I want it, and sucking fresh marks over the old ones. I get to his nipple and just camp there, because I know what it does to him even if he won’t show me.
I feel his breathing go shallow, but the trembling in him gets more controlled. He’s working. He’s holding it back. He’s doing something really hard, and making it look like nothing. That takes more discipline than anything I’ve ever done, and I do my work on machine learning architectures while baked, so.
His sweats are in the way of another big and juicy thing. I don’t like them. I fumble with the drawstrings for what might be thirty seconds or three hours. I genuinely can’t tell. My hands feel like they belong to someone else, all heavy and dumb. Eventually, I untie the knot and get his pants down.
I look at him.
He’s rock hard. Flushed and pretty. Way too pretty. Kit leaks a lot, and the bead on his tip is catching the light… uh, prettily. It looks a little—I don’t know… delicious? It makes my mouth water.
Kit is pretty.
“You’re so good at this,” I breathe.
I mean it, because it’s one of those stoned truths that bypasses the filter and comes out true. He is so good at this. He is the fucking best at this. It blows my mind.
I don’t have adequate words for what it does to me that he can be in a room full of chaos and just opt out of existing for a while. Just become a thing. Just becomemy thing.
My good, pretty doll.
I spit in my palm, and get my hand around his dick. Stroke him once, feeling the way the slick spreads over the hot skin. Feeling the way his hips do this tiny hitch again, a tiny tremor that travels up through his whole body, and dies before it becomes anything.
I stop.
He goes back to being perfectly still.
I drag my palm back, use what’s on it to slick myself up. I’m already so far gone that even just my own hand on myself makes my head drop forward. I’m harder than I’ve been in recent memory. I need—I just need—
I line up with his hole. Push forward.
And immediately go nowhere.
I try again. Same result—his body just quietly and completely locking me out. I pull back and stare down at him. He’s perfectly still, perfectly blank, staring at the ceiling.
Completely unbothered that I just tried to ram into him dry like a total idiot.
“Right. Right, okay. You’re a doll, not a—” I lose the thought. “You don’t come pre—” Gone. My brain is literal soup. I put my hand over my face for a second.
My doll is not self-lubricating. That’s a reasonable thing I should have remembered before trying to raw-dog him on a dirty floor.
I get my fingers wet with a ton of spit and reach down, pushing one in slowly. His breath catches, and I watch his face stay neutral while his ass swallows my finger. It’s so hot. It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. I add a second one. Work them slowly, stretching that tight hole open.
“There,” I breathe when I feel him ease up around my knuckles. “There, okay, that’s—”
I add more spit. I finger-fuck him for a while—maybe a long while, because time is completely fake right now. The squelching sound is loud, but I don’t care. I think I kind of want the room to hear it.
He’s trembling again, that deep internal shake. I press my forehead to his chest just to feel it. The stillness on top, the shaking underneath. The sound of his heartbeat.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Then I line up again.
And this time I sink in, my cock sliding deep into the wet heat, buried all the way and not moving.
