Sorry I Was Looking At My Own Boobs What Were You Saying

sorry I was looking at my own boobs what were you saying

My nipples need an hour of attention, I’m so serious 😭😭😭

yara got carried away (and then couldn’t stop)

dry humping w simon.

it's heated. frantic, almost. he's so pent up after being away from you for however long. five days, five weeks, five months; no matter. he reacts the same way every time. like he needs to devour you, swallow you whole so you're always with him.

he's got you folded in half against the couch, his massive frame pinning you to the cushions. you think you can feel one of the springs pressing against your back, but who could care about that when his hand is around your throat, tongue licking into your mouth like you're the most decadent dessert he'd been craving for? a delicacy he'd indulge incessantly if given the chance?

you're panting when he pulls back, sticking your tongue out like a slut to gather more of the saliva that connects your lips. reveling in the way his hand tightens around your throat as he rumbles his approval. it makes everything go that much more fuzzy, and you think you let out a whining keen at the way he stares down at you. reverent. hungry. you definitely hiccup a moan as he drags his clothed cock against your damp panties, the bulge catching perfectly against your clit with every sloppy roll of his hips.

it's maddening. it's perfect. you could cum just like this. you need more. he sucks on your tongue and you hear wedding bells. the band in your tummy is stretched taut as he continues to rut against you, and it genuinely feels like he's fucking you with the sounds of skin against skin filling the air.

it isn't long before he's got both hands around your neck, using his grip as an anchor to pull you against his every thrust. you can barely gasp out a warning as you spiral into bliss, choking out his name amidst his own guttural moans. the fucker's made you see stars without even touching you, and he isn't done yet.

consent is sacred, holy, heavenly. full permission to please and use them as you or they or both need. consent is sexy, fun, exciting. a powerful yes or even a subtle please to start the festivities. consent is pleasure, consent is everything.

you make simon riley incredibly wet, make him leak embarrassedly inside his boxers, where his girthy cock chubs up with arousal, precum staining the fabric, as he stifles a pitchy whine behind his clenched teeth, hands tugging at his pants to relieve the feeling.

that's the effect you have at him everytime, he can't hold all the gnawing lust he bears inside, his cock tenting in his pants at your every sweet word or touch, face flushed brightly when you croon at him, noticing his hard on, and simon barely can hold back from palming at himself.

but it's all futile when you put your hands on him, teasing him cloyingly sweet, your palm cupping the tent in his pants and simon swears he could've cum right on the spot, holding himself just so he could see what would happen next, not letting himself unwind under your coy touches.

but if you'll tease him with the hot clutches of your cunt, prod his fat girth at your soppy entrance, teasing his sticky and leaky tip by rubbing it against your folds, he would cum embarrassedly quickly, flood your tight hole full of his potent load with a hoarse whimper.

you barely bounced at his thick length, and he's already filled you up, coating your velvety walls and his cock with the mix of his cum and your slick, now simon would let you have your own fill, groaning pathetically at the overstimulation and cumming again in the process.

main masterlist. quidelines.