ੈ✩‧₊˚

Wouldn’t it be perfect to be taken care of? To be handled, fucked properly until there's nothing but pretty little thoughts blooming behind your eyes as you moan louder and louder? That’s what runs through Val’s mind as she watches Mel move, loose with little hitches of breathe as she grinds down on the strap in nothing but a thick, oversized sweater.

Mel’s hair is mussed, long black waves tossed over one shoulder, cheeks red, mouth open. She looks dazed, lost in it all. Her red sweater is pushed up over her hips, there's nothing underneath, thighs spread wide across Val’s lap. She’d asked to take it off earlier, pawing at the sleeves, breathless and warm, but Val caught her wrists, shook her head, and said, “No, leave it.”

She looks pretty. Just like the day she bent Mel over in her sundress and made her come until she couldn’t stand. Here- Val wants her soft and cozy, a little wet and needy in something sweet.

Now Mel moves on her own, hips rolling slow, the hem of the sweater bunched around her waist. Every time she drops down, the strap slides deep, her body squeezing tight, slick loud in her ears as she comes up and back down. The sweater makes her look smaller, softer, something to be cherished even as she’s bouncing on her strap. Mel’s hands twist in the thick fabric, eyes fluttering, her voice a string of pitchy little noises.