❤️‍🔥

You know what he likes. You know that when it comes down to likes—the best place that he enjoys being is on his knees. And the only thing that completes this experience is one thing. That would be the feel of that comfortable leather that takes presence in tight wrench around the hollow of his throat.

The one that’s connected to the leash that you hold languidly in your hand—after all, you don’t expect any resistance. Not from your dearest apostle who takes worship on his knees, eyes glassy and framed by tousled hair.

“You like where you are, Roy?” You ask with soft, coquettish tone. You make tentative tug to assess the resistance he gives; the leash pulls taut, pulling straight against the thick column of his throat.

You allow yourself privilege to look at the strain of his neck muscles as he makes good posture for you, back straight, bulge tenting widely in his pants.

“Of course I do.” He husks, his voice crushed velvet as he looks up to you with idolizing visual cant. The way his hands settle on the meat of his thighs, at rest, bearing no resistance.

You smile. “Good. Then you’ll like this more.”

And without any hesitation, you let your foot ascend through the air, before pressing the arch of your toes into the divot of his chest: right where his heart beats in increased uptick at the contact that you grace him with.

Roy relies on the exertion of clenched muscles, the ability to descend to the awaiting ground below him as you continue to encourage him down to where he belongs.

Down to where he gladly glows, the glimmer of obeisance glowing brightly in his eyes as he watches you in his journey downward.

It’s not until he finally settles on the ground with a grunt of air, arms flexed in steep coil, abdomen flat and taut, that he allows a low grunt to escape him. And then you permit your foot to settle on him in flat manner, your smile growing in delighted means.

“Do you like this more?” You ask, maintaining light tone and mischievous arc of gaze down to him.

For emphasis, you allow your foot to assume more pressure on the plateau of his chest—there’s no mistaking the lustful groan that snakes through gritted teeth. Through the set jaw that displays almost-boozy grin.

“I sure do,” Roy replies in lazy contentment, exactly where he wants to be. “I could use a little more weight, though.”

“Oh?” You ask, allowing your brow to arch at his impertinence. Asking for more than you’re given him privilege of at the moment. “And how do you ask?”

His exhortation comes without hesitation, much as you watch the bulge grow in definition between his legs, desperate with need.

“Please,” He asks in dutiful prayer, “Step on me.”

“Why?” You ask, letting your teeth finally show in display.

“Because,” Roy elaborates without hesitation, “I need to feel you on me.”

Another elapsing of second as you wait for him to suggest further explanation—it comes without pause. “And because I want to feel you riding me.”

“Sure you can handle it?” You tease, working the heel of your foot into him. The noise that he makes is more subdued but no less punched-out, no less tight with desire.

“Always,” He swears to you, “I don’t want anything else.”

“Alright.” You grin, finally acquiescing to his wishes. “I’ll take good care of you, Roy.”

“You always do,” He says—it’s the only thing that he says until you’re riding him, your thighs pinned against himself to keep the proper rhythm as you sink up and down his cock.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Roy manages through his set jaw, eyelashes fluttering around that pretty, glassy-eyed look he gives you.

All you do is smile—and give Roy Harper what he needs.

divider and banner made by me :)

taglist: @colonelfish @just-peachy-babe @thescrawler @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @bestmannequin2018 @cassiecasluciluce @mortisetspei @lettucel0ver @paankhaleyaaar @lala131lsjsl @infinictus @bozosprout @bubbletae7 @inkievoid @moonchxrm @newangelle @xerorizz @suqariiswiieet @kimmylikesthemall @clownstheyreeverywhere @yoru-ichi @unicvnthlle @minandras @leonieies

You know what he likes. You know that when it comes down to likes—the best place that he enjoys being is on his knees. And the only thing that completes this experience is one thing. That would be the feel of that comfortable leather that takes presence in tight wrench around the hollow of his throat.

The one that’s connected to the leash that you hold languidly in your hand—after all, you don’t expect any resistance. Not from your dearest apostle who takes worship on his knees, eyes glassy and framed by tousled hair.

“You like where you are, Roy?” You ask with soft, coquettish tone. You make tentative tug to assess the resistance he gives; the leash pulls taut, pulling straight against the thick column of his throat.

You allow yourself privilege to look at the strain of his neck muscles as he makes good posture for you, back straight, bulge tenting widely in his pants.

“Of course I do.” He husks, his voice crushed velvet as he looks up to you with idolizing visual cant. The way his hands settle on the meat of his thighs, at rest, bearing no resistance.

You smile. “Good. Then you’ll like this more.”

And without any hesitation, you let your foot ascend through the air, before pressing the arch of your toes into the divot of his chest: right where his heart beats in increased uptick at the contact that you grace him with.

Roy relies on the exertion of clenched muscles, the ability to descend to the awaiting ground below him as you continue to encourage him down to where he belongs.

Down to where he gladly glows, the glimmer of obeisance glowing brightly in his eyes as he watches you in his journey downward.

It’s not until he finally settles on the ground with a grunt of air, arms flexed in steep coil, abdomen flat and taut, that he allows a low grunt to escape him. And then you permit your foot to settle on him in flat manner, your smile growing in delighted means.

“Do you like this more?” You ask, maintaining light tone and mischievous arc of gaze down to him.

For emphasis, you allow your foot to assume more pressure on the plateau of his chest—there’s no mistaking the lustful groan that snakes through gritted teeth. Through the set jaw that displays almost-boozy grin.

“I sure do,” Roy replies in lazy contentment, exactly where he wants to be. “I could use a little more weight, though.”

“Oh?” You ask, allowing your brow to arch at his impertinence. Asking for more than you’re given him privilege of at the moment. “And how do you ask?”

His exhortation comes without hesitation, much as you watch the bulge grow in definition between his legs, desperate with need.

“Please,” He asks in dutiful prayer, “Step on me.”

“Why?” You ask, letting your teeth finally show in display.

“Because,” Roy elaborates without hesitation, “I need to feel you on me.”

Another elapsing of second as you wait for him to suggest further explanation—it comes without pause. “And because I want to feel you riding me.”

“Sure you can handle it?” You tease, working the heel of your foot into him. The noise that he makes is more subdued but no less punched-out, no less tight with desire.

“Always,” He swears to you, “I don’t want anything else.”

“Alright.” You grin, finally acquiescing to his wishes. “I’ll take good care of you, Roy.”

“You always do,” He says—it’s the only thing that he says until you’re riding him, your thighs pinned against himself to keep the proper rhythm as you sink up and down his cock.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Roy manages through his set jaw, eyelashes fluttering around that pretty, glassy-eyed look he gives you.

All you do is smile—and give Roy Harper what he needs.

divider and banner made by me :)

taglist: @colonelfish @just-peachy-babe @thescrawler @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @bestmannequin2018 @cassiecasluciluce @mortisetspei @lettucel0ver @paankhaleyaaar @lala131lsjsl @infinictus @bozosprout @bubbletae7 @inkievoid @moonchxrm @newangelle @xerorizz @suqariiswiieet @kimmylikesthemall @clownstheyreeverywhere @yoru-ichi @unicvnthlle @minandras @leonieies

You know what he likes. You know that when it comes down to likes—the best place that he enjoys being is on his knees. And the only thing that completes this experience is one thing. That would be the feel of that comfortable leather that takes presence in tight wrench around the hollow of his throat.

The one that’s connected to the leash that you hold languidly in your hand—after all, you don’t expect any resistance. Not from your dearest apostle who takes worship on his knees, eyes glassy and framed by tousled hair.

“You like where you are, Roy?” You ask with soft, coquettish tone. You make tentative tug to assess the resistance he gives; the leash pulls taut, pulling straight against the thick column of his throat.

You allow yourself privilege to look at the strain of his neck muscles as he makes good posture for you, back straight, bulge tenting widely in his pants.

“Of course I do.” He husks, his voice crushed velvet as he looks up to you with idolizing visual cant. The way his hands settle on the meat of his thighs, at rest, bearing no resistance.

You smile. “Good. Then you’ll like this more.”

And without any hesitation, you let your foot ascend through the air, before pressing the arch of your toes into the divot of his chest: right where his heart beats in increased uptick at the contact that you grace him with.

Roy relies on the exertion of clenched muscles, the ability to descend to the awaiting ground below him as you continue to encourage him down to where he belongs.

Down to where he gladly glows, the glimmer of obeisance glowing brightly in his eyes as he watches you in his journey downward.

It’s not until he finally settles on the ground with a grunt of air, arms flexed in steep coil, abdomen flat and taut, that he allows a low grunt to escape him. And then you permit your foot to settle on him in flat manner, your smile growing in delighted means.

“Do you like this more?” You ask, maintaining light tone and mischievous arc of gaze down to him.

For emphasis, you allow your foot to assume more pressure on the plateau of his chest—there’s no mistaking the lustful groan that snakes through gritted teeth. Through the set jaw that displays almost-boozy grin.

“I sure do,” Roy replies in lazy contentment, exactly where he wants to be. “I could use a little more weight, though.”

“Oh?” You ask, allowing your brow to arch at his impertinence. Asking for more than you’re given him privilege of at the moment. “And how do you ask?”

His exhortation comes without hesitation, much as you watch the bulge grow in definition between his legs, desperate with need.

“Please,” He asks in dutiful prayer, “Step on me.”

“Why?” You ask, letting your teeth finally show in display.

“Because,” Roy elaborates without hesitation, “I need to feel you on me.”

Another elapsing of second as you wait for him to suggest further explanation—it comes without pause. “And because I want to feel you riding me.”

“Sure you can handle it?” You tease, working the heel of your foot into him. The noise that he makes is more subdued but no less punched-out, no less tight with desire.

“Always,” He swears to you, “I don’t want anything else.”

“Alright.” You grin, finally acquiescing to his wishes. “I’ll take good care of you, Roy.”

“You always do,” He says—it’s the only thing that he says until you’re riding him, your thighs pinned against himself to keep the proper rhythm as you sink up and down his cock.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Roy manages through his set jaw, eyelashes fluttering around that pretty, glassy-eyed look he gives you.

All you do is smile—and give Roy Harper what he needs.

divider and banner made by me :)

taglist: @colonelfish @just-peachy-babe @thescrawler @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @bestmannequin2018 @cassiecasluciluce @mortisetspei @lettucel0ver @paankhaleyaaar @lala131lsjsl @infinictus @bozosprout @bubbletae7 @inkievoid @moonchxrm @newangelle @xerorizz @suqariiswiieet @kimmylikesthemall @clownstheyreeverywhere @yoru-ichi @unicvnthlle @minandras @leonieies