your tits are his favorite thing ever. finishing all over them? check. kissing, sucking and squeezing them? check. boobjobs? ♡

one : two : three : four : five

satoru loves making you feel good with his fingers, he can't help but cream his pants whenever he does—it's his favorite thing when you're writhing against his shaky hands

one : two : three : four : five

satoru loooves when you give him mean handjobs. if it's his lucky day, your acrylic nails—that he paid for—are scratching his poor, aching cock until he's overstimulated and nothing comes out anymore

one : two : three : four

he loves when you ride him until he cries, his white lashes sticking together and teary eyes staring up at yours. he always cums so hard—especially if you're kind enough to spit in his mouth

one : two : three : four

he loves watching your ass jiggle against him, your hips thrusting back onto his length. he can't help the tears that fall onto your back, his hands gripping bruises into the sides of your hips

one : two : three

making out always manages to turn him on, cock strained against his hello kitty pajama pants that are bound to have a damp spot

one : two : three

satoru does such a good job when he's eating your pussy out. he'll take his time, worshipping your body before his tongue darts out, soon turning into a mess with your juices dripping down his chin

one : two : three

he loves playing with all the toys you bought him, always imagining it's your tight pussy instead of the rough silicone pocket

one : two : three

he can't get enough of your wet mouth, always whimpering and whining when he feels your cheeks getting hollow and throat closing around his tip

one : two : three

emphasis on gently because sadly, gojo's fingers work excruciatingly slow on the swollen nub, tracing endless patterns with his fingertips. he's barely applying pressure, instead replaced with feather-like touches, his middle finger pressing down ever so slightly whenever he catches you rutting your hips into his hand. your thighs tremble slightly, your soaked panties tossed somewhere besides your bed and your bra's pushed up against your breasts. the blunt on his drawer laid forgotten, smoke hissing out as it quietly died down. you could barely make out what he was whispering against your collarbone, melting underneath his veiny arms. he made his way down your chest, swirling his tongue around your nipple before pulling away.

the process was messy. his face was covered in your hot juices—and he'd made some comparison about you and a “cream donut” but you couldn't really decipher what he'd actually said. your head was pounding and you swore you could see stars, yet by the time his tongue flicked against your clit, you weren't so sure if you were seeing anything at all.

he wasn't nice in any way, not even remotely gentle, partially because he didn't know how to be but you weren't complaining. he knew everything you liked, from the way you shuddered under him, to the way your breathing quickened when his fingers reached to play with your tits, and especially when his mouth wrapped around your hole—your only reaction being to shout his name. he'd given you no time to adjust before he began to withdraw, groaning appreciatively at the feel of your sopping cunt around his tongue.

his hands reached around to grab at whatever skin they could before safely tucking themselves under your thighs, his thumb making it's way onto your clit, the fat digit pressing harshly against your nub while his tongue did the rest of the work.

the only small gesture of affection was him cleaning up the mess he'd made, tongue lapping at whatever dribbled down his chin. he wasted no time in shoving the rest of his fingers inside you, your insides pulsing with every small pump, his fingertips reaching further than you'd anticipated. you rocked your hips against his hand, noting the way his forearms flexed underneath your body. you bucked against his face, pressing against his tongue in a desperate search for more.