#scaraei

small section of my scaraei draft. it's rough. be nice

prodding his fingers in between, he presses her down onto the tatami with her arms suspended above her head. the intricate designs of the kimono were crumpled in between tight, red rope unskillfully bound. Her hair was strewn around in a mess underneath her and had come undone from her defiance--all efforts proved ineffective as her spit coated the makeshift gag secured to her mouth. it dribbled down her chin and onto her neck, which distracted him to a great degree.

His gaze was acutely drawn to the saliva pooling onto the bottom of her chin; he hovers over her wriggling body, propped by his arms with eyes wandering around the accumulation of spit around both sides of her mouth. her groans of protest are muffled by the gag, procuring a generous amount of spit by the moment.

her legs are folded into tight ropes, also wriggling, underneath him. his neck cranes in a single motion and he eyes her struggling, groaning figure in one slow, thorough flick.

The trace of his eyes burns her skin--it scorches her deeply, like a ray of light burning through a shard of glass. The heat rises to her face and greets her cheeks in a deep flush of red as he tucks a hand under her nape. The younger boy lowers and his arousal promptly presses onto the rope secured just above her womb. Her neck is arched only slightly as he elevates her head and with narrowed eyes he draws her into his proximity.

He's satiated easily--watching her eyes twitch and narrow in tandem with her saliva dripping and emerging from her failed protests. Making no attempt to conceal his pleasure, an elated scoff departs his lips as he eyes her with evident gaze. Her defenselessness is his pride; a shaking, miserable demonstration of maternity. His heavy breath delicately brushes against her wet lips, still pried open by the gag and he leans in with a blank expression.

His brow is propped straight and his eyes are narrowed in focus.

"Hey, mom," his voice cracks as a bead of sweat rolls down his neck. He says little with his voice, but his gaze leaves little room to guess. Her eyes meet his in a scornful narrow as her teeth clench around the gag; her struggles have now subsided and she lays still with her back arched in discomfort. Her attention is his now, no matter the urges to defy him. "Is it too tight?" his eyes flit in a once-over, merely spanning a moment before his eyes lock back onto her spit-covered skin.