The Games They Play Together

He watches as she struggles to make it through the match, her back to him as she rides his cock, her hands glistening with sweat, one gripping the PlayStation controller, the other on his thigh trying to steady herself.

He’s enchanted by her – by her soft, sweet whispers to herself that he catches the tail end of. By the way her body tenses as she lowers herself back down on his cock, filling her tight little pussy as much as she can, the hungry little slut they know she is just for him.

With her movements he rises off the bed to meet her halfway, hungry for her himself, chasing the frenzied, delicious feeling that comes with easing into her, dulling that ache in his shaft. The ache that slithers right down to his balls, making him clench his muscles tight as pleasure courses through his body.

‘Fuck! Sir…’

Her words come out strained. Squeezing through her clenched teeth only to dissipate around them.

Before he realises, he’s reaching up to her short undercut hair and tugging gently with a fistful – just how he knows she likes it.

Her body reacts, jolts. She turns to kiss him on the mouth. Deeply. Passionately.

He wraps his arms around her torso, tracing shapes of his own creation on her skin as he works his way to her tits.

How does one get here? He wonders. One moment they’re lounging side by side, him reading, her gaming online, playing some third-person-shooter, both naked in the middle of a late, rainy spring day.

Then something clicks. It’s a glance, the way their thigh brushes together. The way her eyes shift into…something primal. Their animals come out, scratching and clawing and wild.

He rolls her nipple between his finger and thumb. Stretches it. Pinches it. Slaps it.

She giggles.

On the screen her avatar is running into walls. She’s losing herself in the moment, finding herself in their forest.

He slaps her across her tits again. Harder this time. The sound of her skin cracking against his open palm, the way she giggles — it’s fucking adorable. And he can’t help the sadistic grin that spreads across his face.

Suddenly no touch is enough for him.

He pushes her on all fours.

The controller moves with them, falls upside down. The joystick clicks forward, her character runs on the spot along the wall.

Through her headset her teammates are confused, talking aloud amongst themselves, wondering what the fuck she’s doing.

It’s a relief to slide into her. A relief in his soul, a relief in his cock. Realisation hits him that he needs her, and only her. It’s giddy and wild and comes out of him in uncontrollable laughter.

She’s bent over, face grinding into the end of her bed with their every movement. From here he can see the glazed look in her eyes. They’re half shut, unfocused no doubt. Her lips are parted just enough to let out her cries. Cries that coincide with each time he rips his cock out of her only to slide back in.

Before he can process it, his hands are sliding up her back, over her freckles, and clawing their way back to her ass, leaving thin red lines behind. In its wake, he sees the goosebumps travel down in waves across her arching back.

He delights in her shiver, can feel it on his own bare back. This only makes him want to feel her more. It’s a need, manic and wild.

A thought pops into his mind — he doesn’t know who he is anymore. Something is happening to him, turning him wild.

He grabs her by the hips and they go rolling over, legs tangled.

They’re face to face. Her small, gorgeous tits, her wide, manic smile.

He growls. Then her arm shoots out, pins him by the chest. He wrestles under her arm, sees her swivelling around ontop of him – then she’s got her back to him, her hands grips his cock. It feels delicious. Different. It’s not just that it’s her hand, it’s more than that. He tries to figure it out but she’s stroking him, grinding into his thighs. He can feel how wet she is. It pushes him forward but the weight of her against his thighs holds him down.

That and her guiding him to her, the sight of her easing onto him, her body wracked with shudders, her fucking adorable little moans filling the room.

The sight of her, the feel of her, slips him into a daze. This is unreal, her right now on his cock. When did this dream become living? When did he slip into this state of lucidity?

Until the thought arrives.

A thought and an order.

‘Pick up the controller.’ He says, his voice husky and raw. ‘Let’s see how well you can go fucking me.’

He can see past her – another match is starting. Her profile is already locked in and ready to go. Her teammates, randoms – not friends – are trying to strategise with her but who cares right now? Not her. Not him.

Watching her steadying herself is all sorts delightful. She’s shaking, cooing. Trying to concentrate. Stopping, taking the death just to lose herself in the moment easing onto him and off again, using his thigh as balance.

She tries to shoot another. Fails. Dies herself. Through gritted teeth he hears her competitive trash mouth comes out.

‘Oh fuck you, you cocksucking fuck nugget.’

He strikes her ass.

‘Careful. Keep it up with that mouth and you’ll turn on the mic and let the world hear you.’

She stops riding him. Sitting on him, she turns her head halfway to him. He can’t see past her red hair. ‘You’ll do that? I could get banned.’

‘Then watch your mouth.’

‘What fucking mouth?’

She can’t help but let out a moan on the tail end of that sentence. The brat. She’s testing him, pushing his boundaries.

‘Flick on that mic. You’re going to cum like the humiliated slut you are.’

He hears the click of the mic, hears her utter an audible ‘fuck.’

He grins as he lifts his hips and grinds into her.

So I’m into CNC…

‘I didn’t know you were into CNC!’ A follower wrote to me.

I am! It creeps into my fantasies, my stories, this desire to explore a CNC realm with sinister Doms and petulant toys. Hang around my space on this internet long enough and you’ll see a dirty little story pop up.

And sometimes it creeps into my actual life too, heavily negotiated and thoroughly discussed so that there is an ease of mind for both parties to explore without guilt or shame or hesitance.

CNC, for anyone who has found this blogpost, blog and are new to kink and BDSM, stands for Consensual-Non-Consent. It’s about roleplaying darker fantasies, experimenting with non consent in a way that you and your partner are both comfortable and interested in. It could be a fantasy in which rape is emulated, it could be something else brutal — but always within the realm of fantasy.

Why do I like CNC? I’m drawn to exploring those wicked fantasies, the type that enter your mind at night. That you might not want to put into words because you’re not sure whether or not you’d be shunned for that line of thought. But these fantasies are so naughty and delicious that you can’t help but linger on them throughout the week. Can’t help but take them with you into the shower or on the train to or from work.

I suppose the fascination comes from a few places. I’m interested in sharing that fantasy, in seeing what someone else wants to explore there, what we can create together – in or out of the bedroom, wherever our ideas take us.

I’m interested in discussing it – the psychology behind it, either for a submissive or a dominant. You know, where do our minds go? What we do want here? What do we not want there? What turns you on? I’m endlessly fascinated about the mind so I could talk about it all day.

Maybe the fascination comes from part of my background? Being raised Catholic and touching upon the taboo is thrilling, stimulating. It feels forbidden to dip your toe in, to dive into that pool. And especially with someone else. Because there’s something primal, something really sexy about inhabiting that realm with someone. You’re co-writing an epic fantasy together but me, as a dominant, I am directing it too. Navigating. Guiding. Actively listening.

And that excitement comes from elsewhere. From exploring that picnic basket of my feelings in the forest through the lens of a good book, like how we are compelled by the anti-heroes or antagonists of fiction and how we are intrigued by such a narrative. No matter how dark it goes.

I don’t know about you, dear follower, but as someone who enjoys CNC but also has my moments, where the self out of kink and the self within kink get entangled and causes me to spiral, sometimes it’s really fucking exciting to see a writer – a book – tackle it in a narrative in such unabashed, unapologetic fashion.

And then? Well, then there’s that feeling of being. Of acceptance. Of letting go of what this means and that means and tapping into that very primal force with someone. Laying out everything on the table through thorough discussions, what you both want, the boundaries there, the soft limits, the hard limits and then just — letting go. Of fear, of being too much. Everything you have, all in that moment.

I guess that’s where my interest in primal things crosses over into CNC, because feeling primal, being primal, there’s an element of tapping into pure animalistic thoughts and actions. I’ve always been drawn to that wildness, that ferocity of spirit in and out of the roleplay. Perhaps that is an aspect.

Lastly, I want to say this. If you’ve made it this far with my words, if you’ve stumbled across this post, and you’re feeling shame about those fantasies in your mind that you dare not speak of – try not to feel that.

Easier said than done right? These thoughts, that arousal, can be confusing. Spin you into a spiral. I know— I’ve been there.

The truth of it is it doesn’t make you a monster. Kinks are weird, we can’t explain them really. We feel them. We want to explore them safely, as we would a roller coaster at a theme park or a horror movie in the dark. We want that experience with the safety harness. Explore our humanities with our loved ones because for whatever reason, that’s intriguing to us. Together.

It knots my stomach to think of hurting my partner, in any way, shape or form. Sick to the stomach. I need aftercare after a heavy scene. But hearing her delight? Where that takes her? How her voice grows light and her eyes eager and the things she wants to say at the height of her arousal? It’s different. It draws me into her mind.

Shame with those thoughts are natural – these are intense, savage thoughts you are having that make you incredibly hard or incredibly soaked – thoughts you dare not speak out loud.

But it is a fantasy. A way to explore said feelings in a safe environment, completely controlled and negotiated. There is a line there between your self in kink and out of. A line there that you feel completely.

Be kind to yourself. Write them down if it helps you process them. But don’t spiral.

TMI Tuesday, July 19 2022!

1. Confession booth. Confess two things right here on TMI Tuesday.

A) When I was young I attempted to flood some small toilets to reenact Titanic.

B) I ate an alcohol soaked worm on a Vegemite sandwich.

2. I am guilty of _____ .

Not drinking enough water. Drinking too much coffee. Laying, languorously, naked in bed while I do things like these…

3. A big box is delivered to you. The address is correct but the name on the label is not you. Do you open the box?

No I do not. I own this home so as I attempt to solve this mystery I ponder on time travel like a dork.

4. How long have you held a grudge?

About a year or two after a ridiculous, heightened argument. That was when I was 22. I can be awfully stubborn.

5. Does anyone have a grudge against you? Why?

Probably! But I don’t know why someone would have a grudge against me. You’ll have to ask them. Maybe because they really don’t like my writing or my mind or my dominant self – or just something about me irks them. People are strange and can stiffen at any old thing.

Bonus: There is this one thing in my life I wish I had not done. I wish I had not _____ .

Married my ex, when my gut feeling was I was unhappy. I convinced myself it was jitters, that love was quiet and simmering. I was a dumbass and too young to be married. I wish I had the courage to take that step away from all those years together and follow my heart. I was just anxious and guilt ridden over hurting her.

Want to do TMI Tuesday? Follow them here

The Leopard In The Mirror

Before work I want you to do something for me — I want you…to take off all of your clothes…and tell me, in that moment, how you feel standing there…

Her Master’s text played like a voice on repeat in her mind as she stood before the mirror. Her honeyed hair was a mess, her eyes were still sticky with sleep. She needed a shower…but excitement was bubbling in her chest, coursing through her veins upon reading this message.

Admittedly her mind initially wrestled with this, with the fatigue in her bones. It had been a long day previous and she hadn’t had enough sleep – she wanted to stay in bed, wanted to sleep for days.

But something about this text turned her on.

She let out a shaky breath, grabbed her oversized red plaid pj shirt and pulled it over and off. Without looking up at her reflection, she slipped out of her matching red pants and kicked them aside with her pale legs.

Hm. She wrote back to her Master, looking herself over.

What?

Well, I mean…

She paused to consider this. A nude woman looked back at her.

A submissive slave. She knew this deep in her heart just by looking at her.

Honeyed hair draped over her shoulder, the curls of which ran down over her piercing grey eyes.

She’s cute.

Yeah?

The corner of the woman’s lips curved into a half-smile. Her cheeks turned red at this.

She does have a pretty smile.

She certainly does, at that. I would love to ruffle her hair.

The woman in the mirror blushed further.

Oh, she’s pretty when she blushes.

Mm? So say that out loud. Tell her she’s pretty. Tell her she is gorgeous.

There was a click in her throat when she swallowed.

‘Hey. Uh…so..I think you’re gorgeous.’

The slave in the mirror smiled wide at that.

Looking at her, her heart began to race. Heat flushed down her arms and across her chest, tickling her nipples.

What else do you like about her?

She thought. The woman in the mirror seemed to ponder this as well.

I like her eyes. They’re a cute colour.

Omg – and she has the cutest smile.

The best. She just has such a lovely smile..

Mhm, she is very beautiful.

She stopped, her fingers hovering above the letters on her phone, and looked at the woman.

Before she realised what she was doing, her hand was creeping up to her nipples, pinching them softly and rolling them between her finger and her thumb.

Her tits were bigger. Had grown a cup size recently. Looking at them now, the words popped right into her mind – plump, somewhat triangular in shape, tits but….

She scooped up her tits with her hand and squeezed gently.

…so much fun to squeeze and play with.

The slave was reddening by the minute.

And she felt compelled to write to her Master-

She has these cute little pink nipples.

She does, does she?

Yep!

She looked down, the slave in the mirror looked down with her. Down her stomach.

She has a few belly folds.

Everything about her is gorgeous.

She looked at the slave’s creamy pale thighs.

Marking the edges of her hips and forking across her stomach were…

She has stretch marks. I like them though. They’re fun to trace.

Yeah?

They’re like battle scars! I took on a werewolf and I might’ve got turned but don’t worry, I tracked down the head wolf and reversed the curse!

She IS a complete badass.

The slave in the mirror turned and eyed her ass and giggled.

I like her ass. It’s cute.

Very cute. Very slap-able. Do you think this slave would mind if we slapped it?

The slave in the mirror moved like lightning to strike her ass. The crack of skin on skin rang out in the bathroom.

And she could feel it…pulsating almost. A tiny bit of pain there. It was turning her on.

Did the rest of the house, her roommates across the hallway, hear it?

It made her excited. Nervous, but excited.

Did she smack her ass?

Mhm!

And she enjoyed it?

I think it’s turning her on.

Good! You know…we haven’t given her a name yet. That could be fun?

The slave in the mirror seemed to agree. Her grin widened, flashing her teeth.

What would we call her?

Let’s see. She’s fierce. Cute.

She’s devious.

Oh, she definitely is.

But sweet.

That as well.

Little monster?

No, she’s too cute for that.

Star? Shining bright?

The slave scrunched up her nose. Too corny.

She agreed.

What about leopard?

Her heart fluttered. The slave’s eyes went wide. Her smile went just as wide. That was perfect.

Leopard. Fitting.

She felt light as a feather, as the saying went. Weightless. Free. Primal.

She wanted to fuck…more than ever. Wanted to bring out her vibe and…strangely wanted to watch the slave in the mirror play with herself.

But she had to get to work.

Sigh. And now I need to get ready for work! I love you, Master. She wrote.

I love you too, leopard! Have a most beautiful day!

Gushing On Speech Protocol

There is something really sweet, something really soulful and sexy, to my being, my dominant side and Master side, to think about hearing a submissive slip into third person-speech. To hear the smile in her words as she speaks.

One of the questions I get often when people write to me is — what do you get out of the dynamic as a dominant? It’s this. This joy, this sweetness, at seeing someone you care about being so happy and at peace in a space like this. To see them take off that work mask, that work uniform, to shed that responsibility and have the honour of witnessing this primal, submissive slave step out of their shell and be so content in that layered dynamic.

And then furthermore to work together to implement that speech, to open up a dialogue about what the two of you want to incorporate or explore, to establish when is a good time to wind down from that dynamic and into aftercare — I mean it’s sweet and gorgeous and I’m here for it.

But I mean, fuck …to be able to see this person you know transform – maybe in the way her eyes take shape, in the way her voice is softer or huskier or obedient or playful. It’s something else to work together to find the right collar, to see that look in her eye when she asks if she can share your bed.

To give her head scratches and feel her lean into you. Or to see her wrestle with her own compulsions to clean my shoes or lick my face or wanting to kneel.

It’s all of these things drifting in my head or in my life, dear reader, and more that I cannot pinpoint or describe. Or — that I can describe but poorly. We would be here till first light the way I’d search for the words. I just adore it.

If You Want To Write To Me, You Are More Than Welcome To…

I don’t know who needs to hear this. But if you are wanting to write to me personally – about a story I wrote that you have words about, maybe you want to ask a question about kink or shoot the shit or swap methods from a writers perspective — if you want to write to me but are a fellow socially awkward individual like myself or maybe you’re wondering if you’ll be a bother, an unwanted distraction, an inexperienced git —

I know it’s hard to get outside of your own head but just know that if you’d like to, if you feel comfortable doing so, none of those things even cross my mind. I’m always happy to chat about writing, about BDSM or dominance and submission, those are near and dear to my heart.

If you’ve found my posts about mentors and are considering talking with me, you are always welcome to write in if or when you are ready. I might not have all the answers you’re looking for but I’m happy to chat all the same to see if I can help in any way.

It’s been a hot minute since I put up a post such as this and occasionally I’ll get a message from someone asking if that door is still open. It’s unlocked, you don’t have to knock, just come on in if you’d like to. You can reach me at — darkanddominant@hotmail.com — there’s a lot of d’s there so make sure it’s correct when you type. Or, alternatively, you can find my social media links in the About Me section!

Try not to let any anxieties overcome you. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit. We all are. We just need to believe.

Through The Forest

Would you ever walk naked through the forest with me?
Would you feel comfortable to slip out of your dress, pull off your shirt, peel away your panties — and simply exist…in that moment…with me?
I wonder what that would be like sometimes. To go for a drive – so long, suburbia! – and find some space hidden away, full of the echoes of other free spirits gone by, shedding their skin.
I wonder about the long grass clutching at my legs, the gentle breeze across my ass, the soft sing-song of the birds.
I would listen to the forest.
Coming alive around us.
Enveloping us.
And I would peel off my own clothes, toss them away. Fuck them. Fuck clothes. Fill my lungs with this fresh air as I scream these words. I don’t care anymore.
Because I want you.
I want to see you. Guarded by the flowers, marked by the grass, cast in the glow of this here eternal sunshine. I want to see you – you. Do you understand that?
Fuck this pretence, fuck these masks, fuck these clothes and fuck our ties to that world behind the curtain of trees.
Would you be here with me now? Would you show me yourself? Completely bare yourself?
Under the sun. Under the stars. No hesitation, no self-editing, no word processor enabled. Just your beautiful self.
Sit with me.
Talk with me.
Would you?

_____________

Let’s Talk Hair Pulling

You know something? I fucking love pulling her hair.

I love it in a tender way, giving her hair the gentlest tug when she’s falling asleep. I love it in a ‘careful now, your brat levels are off the charts’ playful warning tug, I love it in the primal rough way. ‘Fucking look at me with those gorgeous of yours, missy. I want to see them take shape while you pound your cunt for me.’

In other words, I like the intimacy and trust behind it. What it can communicate, what it can do, how it can heighten the moment, how there’s a measurement to that pain, a carefulness to the act.

I never used to be okay with it. I used to be horribly shy about expressing myself in that manner – and to be that rough with someone. And on top of that, I used to worry about hurting them. I think there was a touch thing that I had to overcome as well — because intimate touch, a hug, a gentle caress, cupping her face gently – these were all expressions that I was never used to doing.

It took me a long time to be ok with trying it at all, not just with growing used to expressing myself in that way but with exploring with someone in an intimate way. How can I pull hair just right? What’s the pain threshold? What’s safe? What can we experiment with?

Now….it just feels really, Heh….really fucking good. A fistful of hair, a gentle tug. Sometimes hard. Sometimes the words spill out of me like —- Look at me. Look. At. ME. The utter fucking thrill of seeing her eyes as her mind is alight with pain, pleasure and brattiness.

So today, what has me fucking hard and aching, what has me feeling that delicious pulse in my cock, is this fantasy….

I’m laying beside her, we’re both completely naked, and I grip her by the hair and pull, till she’s looking at me with those eyes. I want to tell her to grab her favourite toy, to pound her insatiable little cunt while she keeps her eyes on me. I want to see her eyes flutter, to see her lick her lips as she thinks of my cock. I want to hear how wet me and her toy makes her.

The most delicious thing in this equation is — By doing nothing to her I am doing everything to her. I am just laying beside her, using my voice. Just watching her play with herself, watching her thighs tremble, watching her fuck herself like she does when no one has been watching. Watch herself act out my task just for me.

And I just know I won’t be done with her anytime soon.

12:42pm

It’s something I’ll never forget.

How I truly saw you that day.

Lounging, completely naked, in bed.

Knowing you were away on a work retreat.

Knowing you had to work.

But you didn’t want to.

You lay there. On your stomach. Grey eyes catching the daylight streaming in from the hotel window and glistening with mischief.

How you tried to talk but the cute lil blue vibe buried in your cunt – the vibe I controlled from my phone, sending through patterns controlled by my touch – sent you stammering, moaning, giggling.

There we laid together – a whole state apart, hours from each other, but connected. The moment shared. Nakedness shared. Giggles shared.

I wonder if you know just how mad you drove me. How badly I wanted you. How achingly hard I was for you.

How surreal it all seemed, you being lit by the morning, the curves of your tits hidden away by the sheet, that post-orgasm smile on your face. Touching your lips.

And that tether, still between us. Who says I can’t command you from online? From that far away? Certainly not you, my own little fuck toy – do you know how many times you’ve said ‘Okay, I should reaaaally get some work done?’ — But then you moan and you ride that little vibe with the patterns I’ve sent you like a good little whore.

How did you feel when you first checked into your hotel room, when you knew you had to call me. Did you know I was going to ask you to slip out of your black and white little dress? Did you know how badly I wanted to see what underwear I picked out for you, that I missed seeing you slip into for the flight over to the retreat. That faint pink lace underwear…fuck.

You made me ridiculously hard. I couldn’t keep my eyes away from you, mesmerised by the primal being coming out of you. The side you show to only me. The side that’s been clawing to get out but sometimes just has no outlet, is always pushed back for work, for life. But now is here and loose. I marvel at your spirit, it fuels me, drives me. And you won’t be done till I say you’re done, till your clit aches, till your legs wobble, till you can’t take anymore. Can’t talk anymore.

My only regret was I couldn’t be there. I couldn’t claim that little pussy for myself. To roll you on all fours, to admire your pussy from behind, belonging to me, to growl into a bite I take out of your ass, to ease my cock all the way into you and feel how wet I’ve made you. How wet you have been through all our texts. If you close your eyes now and imagine, can you feel me sliding deep into you? Go on. Try. The thought of you squirming makes me grin. But seriously, try to imagine. Now.

There’s a good girl. Thank you for coming back to me.

How did you feel when, after a third orgasm, you wanted to shower but I wouldn’t let you go. Not without keeping that toy there, not without ordering you to come once more, right there, your back to the shower wall, legs buckling, squeezing your nipples and pinching them for me. I loved seeing your little grin, knowing you were thinking it was my hand, my fingers rolling and stretching your nipple. I love knowing that you can hide it to everyone just how much of a horny girl you are but deep in your alone time, when no one but yourself is present, you come to that fantasy, to that idea. To me and my words. To our shared world.

Maybe, just maybe, you’re more of a dutiful slave than you realise. Did that ever cross your mind? How deep those slutty, needy, impulses go? Because that’s what I saw when you came in the shower. That’s what I saw before that, when you rolled on your back, lifting your hips into the toy for your greedy cunt. I saw the smile across that wet, fuckable lips that knew she was a slave.

Do you remember how you felt when I told you to describe just how you imagined us? Me running my cock between your tits, teasing you with a titty fucking, me sliding my cock against your lips, teasing you with being fucked. And reading this now, what do you want? Where do you want me to mark you? Claim you? Your ass? Your mouth? Your tits? Do you want me to come on your tits the next time I pick you up from the airport? I’ll mark you right there in that car park, right down your dress and watch you squirm.

Don’t forget I own your cute ass. I’ll see you when you get back home.

Mood Boards & Wandering Minds

Source – unknown

I’ve been gathering images for a mood board for a Master / slave piece I am working on – and this image is taking up space in my head. Does your mind ever hit you with a visceral fantasy? Something you can feel deep in your gut? Maybe your heartbeat quickens, you feel an ache in your cock or you squeeze your thighs close as you’re lost in the moment?

That was me with this image. I want to start by writing that he’d push her up against the wall but – no. Because it’s like a dance – she leads. She falls, they fall together. Pinned to the wall she lets out a gasp. There’s a giggle at the end of it there. From feeling Him hooking his fingers under her leggings, peeling them down. From feeling the Autumn air hitting her exposed ass, from the fact that now He knows she was never wearing underwear today.

But I can feel it. That delight in drawing out the moment of undressing her. The glee in seeing her pinned to the wall, hair down around her face, obscuring her features. A goddess.
Undressing alongside her, feeling the bite of the cool evening too. That indescribable feeling of pressing himself to her, chest to her back, cock nestled against her ass, the head of his cock sliding down to come to rest between her cheeks. Is that a visceral thought for you? Can you close your eyes and picture this scenario that deeply too?

It makes me grin. The idea of telling her to be still, commanding her hands against the wall. Only giving herself over to the moment. To knowing He’s against her, touching his cock and grinding it against her and she can’t do a single fucking thing about it.

Maybe he stops jerking himself off over her ass to rub one pre-cum covered finger across her slit, circling her clit, maybe finger fuck her gently before abruptly stopping and continuing with himself. Drawing the moment out, teasing her, hell, himself, till he edges again and again.

Only to come….all over her ass. And as it rolls down her ass, he scoops up some on his fingers. Massages it into her nipples. Let’s her lick it off his fingers. Then…turns around, commands her to look him in the eye as he finger fucks her.

Fuck…