Aunty Clarissa's afternoon tea for lovely girls

**PLEASE REBLOG**

He doesn't do it as a chore or a bargaining chip for a blowjob later. He dives into your heat because the taste, the slick heat, the way your thighs tremble around his ears, and the sounds you make when his tongue flattens against your clit all turns him on hard. It's primal for him.

You're spread out for him, his shirt still half-buttoned. His big hands grip your thighs, holding you open like he’s afraid you’ll try to close them. He dives in with a low, hungry groan the second his tongue drags through your folds, licking a slow, broad stripe from your entrance up to your clit.

“Fuck… you taste so good,” he mumbles against you, voice rough and wrecked already. He’s not doing this for you — not really. He’s doing it because he loves it. Because the slick heat of you on his tongue makes him throb in his pants. Because the way your hips twitch when he sucks your clit into his mouth is better than any high he’s ever felt.

He eats you out like he’s savoring every drop, like he could stay buried between your legs for hours and never get bored. His tongue circles your clit with lazy, deliberate strokes, then flattens to lick long and deep, collecting every bit of wetness. When you moan and thread your fingers through his hair, he whimpers into your pussy, hips grinding uselessly.

When you call out for him, he doesn’t answer with words. He presses his face in deeper, sucking harder, tongue flicking faster because the sounds you’re making are driving him insane. He’s rock hard and leaking in his pants, but he hasn’t touched himself once. He doesn’t need to, eating you out is enough to get him off.

When you finally come on his tongue, clenching and crying out his name, he moans like he’s the one falling apart. He keeps licking you through it, slower, gentler, but still greedy, chasing every last twitch and flutter like he can’t bear to stop tasting you. He loves the power trip of reducing you to a shaking, moaning mess with nothing but their lips and tongue.

Only when you’re boneless and panting does he finally pull back, lips swollen and glistening, eyes dark with lust. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing hard, and looks up at you with that soft, crooked smile.

Used to be a boy, y'know hehe. Oh yes. I fixed that. He's still in there, somewhere, at the back of that silly, frilly little brain. Who he was before i mean. I like to bring him to the fore so he can have a good cry in the mirror at what he's become, now and again. I like hearing him beg to be returned to the sweet, carefree oblivion of being a dumb sissy bimbo fucktoy.

Wiggle wiggle, Cumkitten! Jiggle jiggle!