Trader Hoes

His right hand tingled, still slick with a thinning layer of sunscreen, the rest of which was slathered over the length of his achingly hard cock.

Whereas the rest of the Order of Heroes were freely enjoying some much needed respite frolicking around the beach, he was stowed away in a nearby dressing room stall, which felt more like a confessional booth as he aggressively worked through his shame with every buck of his hips against his palm.

He was possessed, thrown into the extremes of his yearning and left to suffer in its depths.

After all, it was a rare but holy sight to see you out of your robe--and in such a revealing swimsuit no less.

There was a greedy part of him that wanted to cover you up, to haul you back into this very dressing stall. Though, while his intention would be to suggest something more modest, he wasn't sure his regal discipline would hold up while being in such a tight and confined space with you.

Instead, he just leapt at the chance to help apply sunscreen to your skin--lest anyone else even think to get their hands on you first.

The warmth and softness of your body, the giggles you emitted whenever his hands dragged over somewhere ticklish, the trust in him displayed as you lied obediently upon your beach towel as you awaited for him to finish--

"Alfonse~! Are you coming?"

Your voice.

His teeth clenched hard, body tensing stiffly as he choked back a moan as a mess of cum spilled over his hand.

He slumped back against the wall of the dressing stall, regaining his composure with every snatched breath as quickly as he could.