Derse Oblongs

oh hell yeah

Over the course of the evening, she works him up with come-and-go presses that instead have him whining lowly when she moves away. His cock is weeping so much precome that Rose can feel a traitorous little wet spot even through his pants and her stockings. With that, Dave's fucked, because now Rose is much more exacting with how she strokes along the length of him rather than performing more directionless groping. Slickness spreads and smooths the glide of the otherwise rough layers of fabric, eliminating the edge of unpleasantness that kept him somewhat tethered to Earth. Dave is at the complete mercy of Rose's pace; if he moves his hips, the jig is up.

He tries to hide when he's close, hopes Rose will underestimate how keyed up he is, but he's always so obvious. He keeps pressing his thighs together to try to grip Rose's leg, which is exactly when she chooses to relinquish her touch. At this point, Dave's hunched over his barely-touched food and panting and dizzy with how his pulse hammers in time with the just-not-enough tingling throb of his arousal.

He's such a mess that someone comes over and asks if he's alright. Merciless, Rose says nothing. Instead, she extends her toes and grinds the curving ball of her foot in tiny movements right at the head of Dave's cock. He can only hope that his pathetic, punched-out whine sells the excuse of being a little nauseous.

As soon as they're left alone again—as alone as they can be in a public restaurant—Rose cocks an eyebrow, smirks at him, and once more lets up the pressure. But Dave can't take it anymore, and the last of his restraint snaps. His hand snakes under the table to grip Rose's ankle before she can move it out of reach, frantically rubbing at himself with her sole. He comes hard enough that a little spurt lands on the fabric around Rose's toes. He's too caught up in the firecracker sparks of orgasm to panic about what will be a very visible mess. He trembles through it, toes curling hard enough to cramp, and he has to slap his other hand against his mouth to keep from letting out gasping moans. He's so lightheaded that time slips from him, internal clock skipping ahead a heartbeat or two.

He opens eyes that he had screwed shut without his notice. Although Rose's expression is as smugly placid as ever, Dave swears that he spots a blush high on her cheeks and reddening the upper shell of her ear.

(Also i need you to know that this is the one blog i get notifs for bc i love seein all the confessions... this is my humble contribution. Be fed, my comrades.)

UH. *runs away*

But he who dares not grasp the thorn

Should never crave the rose