“mmffghh…” follo groans into your pussy, his tongue laps at your folds diligently. your essence is dripping down his chin—or is he drooling at the taste? his calloused hands grip tighter on the plush of your thighs as he tries his absolute hardest to focus on making you feel good.

he’s this close to cumming in his pants, he realizes. oh god he’s a loser. how does he make you feel better??? should he speed up, be messier? girls like it messy, right? he needs to show you that he’s good at this stuff. he just wants to impress you so bad :(

you whisper his name, and follo’s ears immediately perk up at the sweet sound of your voice. once he finally decides he should come up for air, follo’s head lifts to press a kiss to your inner thigh before resting his cheek in that same spot. his lips are glistening with you as he stares up at you with a dazed look on his face.

“am… am i doing good?” he babbles breathlessly, hands scrambling up your waist. “am i making you feel good?” big puppy eyes stare up at you with the utmost adoration, blown and unfocused. he needs you to say yes. needs to hear that you like it; that you like him. he’s never done this with another girl before, poor thing.

your hand comes to cup his face and he leans into your touch the second you make contact. “relax, baby,” you coo, stroking his cheek gently. “you’re doing so good. don’t overthink it, ‘kay?”

don’t overthink it. easier said than done.

but follo nods anyway, obediently ducking his head down again. your words ring through his brain: you’re doing so good. the mere idea of him making you feel good has his cock weeping, leaking pre-cum all over his boxers.

follo dives in with a revitalized hunger, lips latching onto your clit and reveling in the way your back arches. the way your thighs squish around the sides of his head is so cute, too… he wishes he could capture this moment with a camera. replay it over and over again. instead, he settles for storing every single detail he can inside his brain.

he feels your fingers find purchase in his hair and a whimper slips out from his lips before he can help it, muffled by the warm wetness of your core. “c—cumming, follo—!” you moan, bucking your hips further into his mouth, your release painting his face as you ride out your orgasm against his tongue.

and oh, is it beautiful.

follo swears he dies and comes back to life in that very moment. a choked groan escapes him and his eyes roll all the way back into his skull as stripes of sticky cum spill into his boxers. his hips absentmindedly grind against the mattress, seeking out that blissful pleasure for as long as he can. he’ll clean himself up later.

his tongue still licks flat against your clit—gently, now—to work you through your orgasm. that’s what he’s supposed to do, isn’t it? and you certainly seem like you’re enjoying it with the way you whine and shiver.