@mrrebbit asked: "Turning your eyes away? I don't think so," up her chin goes with a nudge of a stringy heel. "Come now, my dear. I hadn't given you permission."
Back further he leans into the sofa, one leg crossed over the other. She gets the veil of thread from his garters as he hums, looking her over.
"But I'll give you this," the other foot comes to knock her knees apart, spreading her thighs on the floor. Nothing more than that, but nothing less. "Touch yourself for me. Give me a show."
Ite isn't in the business for apologizing for others cruelty. Chin comes sharp off the slope of his shoe, yellow burnish left on brown leather (she thinks he'd rather her had spit-shined to sadist perfection.) Ite finds herself on her knees and at those feet again tonight, but the sight of him makes breath quick all the same. A dry, spongey swallow is all she's able.
Her leash, tonight a metaphor, wraps perfectly around his wrist to compliment amber beads. Shocked still and demanded to admire the dark delicacy of Reca— Mr. Reca's ensemble. Eyes no wilder a matter, schooled back to rove hunger over stockings, garter, flimsy lace keeping his chest away like a flirt of modesty. Thrown robe does nothing but (everything and,) tickle thighs. When she wets her lips, a better sounding shudder drips from her mouth.
With care, hand makes a reverent move for his leg, from where chin is stuck on curved tip of his shoe, upward. Slow caution... and an attempt to savor him. One by one, fingers curl around the thin bones of his ankle, delicate. Tip of the heel is pressed with less delicacy into his borrowed slacks, her clothed cunt.
A move isn't made beyond this. —That lie is quick to be dispelled with a hand and mouth. The former smooths to the underside of his thigh, hoisting it up. Feeling out how warm skin is complimented by elastic stretch. The latter is wetter, tongue finally finding its spit- enough to be pressed flat to his kneecap... teeth kept tucked away.
Runner-up kiss is chaster than the slobber.
