໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨

So now I’m grinding on you through the fabric, and the wet spot is spreading against the head of my cock and I’ve completely lost interest in doing this properly. I should stop. Pull them to the side. Be a person about it. But we’re dry humping like teenagers, except I keep pressing harder than a nervous teenager would, shoving you into the mattress, feeling the cotton stretch tight across your pussy every time I roll my hips forward. I want to know what happens if I just don’t stop.

The fabric gives a little more each time. I can feel you opening underneath it, your hips tilting up, trying to take me in through the cotton because neither of us is willing to pause long enough to move it. The resistance is making me feral. My whole brain begging, get through, get through, get through. And then the threads start to pull apart and the head of my cock tears through the wet ruined cotton and into you.

i think about them tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, examining the gentle curves of my hips against them and the way my nose twitches a bit in my sleep.

trying to hold back when i snuggle closer

eventually turning me over onto my back, feeling how heavy my limbs are when they drape backwards onto our sheets, and how my sweet little eyes stay closed for them.

i'd want them to feel really sick taking advantage of something so innocent

so trusting

so peaceful

so stupid to leave myself exposed like that.

them crawling between my legs, pushing my nightgown up to my tummy, pressing my thighs apart to nuzzle into my warm waiting cunt