[ tim can only keep his eyes closed tight as he begins to add the fourth finger, the stretch almost too much and too sharp, making little stars burst behind his eyes. if this were the hard, hot heat of a man behind him, would he feel the same? or would the stars burst with even more light and color and light him up from head to toe?
he takes his time, wiggling his fingers to try and make a little more room for each little press of his little finger. ]
I'd take whatever you told me. Need whatever you'd give me. Only if I can see... Cassiopeiae with how hard you fuck me.
[ the farthest star one may see with a naked eye.
he half expects another order, or even a scolding for demanding something, but as he presspresspresses fingers deeper into his wanting hole, he all but pauses.
I won't.
fire lights up under his skin, and it's evident in the dim light that he is, indeed, a full-body flusher. it creeps up his back, his neck. these sessions are not meant to be a give and take - tim is supposed to wiggle prettily in front of the camera and give whatever the other asks, to answer the beck and call of those little words across the screen.
but why is it he suddenly wishes he felt the press of a broad back against his own? a hand along his flank. breath on his nape. but he won't. he never will.
he arches his back as he's told, angling his ass further up toward the screen, and there in the vee of his legs he is all but dripping wet, his cock leaving a slick mess on the sheets beneath his bent knees. ]
Sir - right. Sorry, sir.
[ his fingers begin to move with more confidence, beginning a slow but steady rhythm in and out, curling to maximize the stretch. ]
Oh, God - it's - it's harder on my own. Without you.
[ and it's ridiculous really, how the movement of his fingers have already gotten him worked up, hips wriggling to deepen the press of his fingers, back arching and only better revealing the flared, flushed head of his dick, the way he leaks heavy again, the white sheets showing an old, floral pattern on the mattress beneath it.
he lets out a whine, higher pitched and utterly needy when he catches that soft, sweet spot inside of him. ]
I need you, sir. Please - tell me when I can -
[ he swallows hard and gasps as he pulls those fingers out, then back in, the motion a little inelegant at this angle but he would do anything this man told him now, if that's what it took. ]
I'll be your good boy. Your sweetheart. The best - I'll wait, just -
[ another groan, a needy buck of his hips and he slows his own hand, afraid he might push himself over the edge without permission. ]
no subject
[ tim can only keep his eyes closed tight as he begins to add the fourth finger, the stretch almost too much and too sharp, making little stars burst behind his eyes. if this were the hard, hot heat of a man behind him, would he feel the same? or would the stars burst with even more light and color and light him up from head to toe?
he takes his time, wiggling his fingers to try and make a little more room for each little press of his little finger. ]
I'd take whatever you told me. Need whatever you'd give me. Only if I can see... Cassiopeiae with how hard you fuck me.
[ the farthest star one may see with a naked eye.
he half expects another order, or even a scolding for demanding something, but as he presspresspresses fingers deeper into his wanting hole, he all but pauses.
I won't.
fire lights up under his skin, and it's evident in the dim light that he is, indeed, a full-body flusher. it creeps up his back, his neck. these sessions are not meant to be a give and take - tim is supposed to wiggle prettily in front of the camera and give whatever the other asks, to answer the beck and call of those little words across the screen.
but why is it he suddenly wishes he felt the press of a broad back against his own? a hand along his flank. breath on his nape. but he won't. he never will.
he arches his back as he's told, angling his ass further up toward the screen, and there in the vee of his legs he is all but dripping wet, his cock leaving a slick mess on the sheets beneath his bent knees. ]
Sir - right. Sorry, sir.
[ his fingers begin to move with more confidence, beginning a slow but steady rhythm in and out, curling to maximize the stretch. ]
Oh, God - it's - it's harder on my own. Without you.
[ and it's ridiculous really, how the movement of his fingers have already gotten him worked up, hips wriggling to deepen the press of his fingers, back arching and only better revealing the flared, flushed head of his dick, the way he leaks heavy again, the white sheets showing an old, floral pattern on the mattress beneath it.
he lets out a whine, higher pitched and utterly needy when he catches that soft, sweet spot inside of him. ]
I need you, sir. Please - tell me when I can -
[ he swallows hard and gasps as he pulls those fingers out, then back in, the motion a little inelegant at this angle but he would do anything this man told him now, if that's what it took. ]
I'll be your good boy. Your sweetheart. The best - I'll wait, just -
[ another groan, a needy buck of his hips and he slows his own hand, afraid he might push himself over the edge without permission. ]