It's fortunate one of their bodies will respond without their head in it, at least today. That doesn't make him feel particularly good and he knows it's going to rattle his sense that what she's interested in is him. He does his best to shove that away, knowing it's not fair, knowing she's likely pushing herself to get this done sooner and he should be grateful, but all he really feels is frustration and shame.
It does still help, though, that it's her, that her hand is in his hair and that she's being gentle. She spreads her legs for him, rocks against him. He knows any other situation would be so much worse.
And her small kiss, her forgiveness settles him down a little. Maybe this doesn't have to break anything between them.
She tells him not to stop, and he knows he can't pull his hand away, but at least he has a little more control, softening the touch and moving more slowly, paying more attention to what makes her sigh.
He gets another kiss and closes his eyes, trying to pretend they're somewhere else, that this is the genuine fun they have gotten up to before.
Get hard for me she whispers. It's a good solution, and honestly some part of him respects her cleverness, but there's nothing to soothe the bitter taste in his mouth as his cock immediately leaps in her hand, twitching and lengthening in the early stages of arousal. He feels the dull pangs of it, too, but honestly the closest thing he's felt to this was when that zombie spirit was inside of him manually forcing him up.
She repeats the order and his dick leaps again. He hisses at the strange feeling, but something about her soft order to let her feel him, the gentle reminder that she finds him beautiful, grounds him that she is not the thing that is unsafe. Not remotely.
He kisses her forehead, then moves to kiss her mouth -- properly. Gentle but firm. He doesn't entirely trust his words, but he trusts this between them.
"You take good care of me, Mistress," he whispers, the hand not compelled to stroke her coming to brush her face. There are moments he can see the arousal reach her expression, and genuine pangs of want answer back in him. He hates that this situation gets to touch that space between them, but he's not sorry to make her feel good, especially if he has some control over his actions.
He's fully hardened by now, so he slips a third finger in her, knowing she likes the girth of it. "Play with my sack," he says. That gets him started better, and hard or not, he isn't that sensitive. "Then with my tip. And when you're close, tell me to come for you. That should be fastest." It's so...surgical. There's almost nothing intimate about it.
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It does still help, though, that it's her, that her hand is in his hair and that she's being gentle. She spreads her legs for him, rocks against him. He knows any other situation would be so much worse.
And her small kiss, her forgiveness settles him down a little. Maybe this doesn't have to break anything between them.
She tells him not to stop, and he knows he can't pull his hand away, but at least he has a little more control, softening the touch and moving more slowly, paying more attention to what makes her sigh.
He gets another kiss and closes his eyes, trying to pretend they're somewhere else, that this is the genuine fun they have gotten up to before.
Get hard for me she whispers. It's a good solution, and honestly some part of him respects her cleverness, but there's nothing to soothe the bitter taste in his mouth as his cock immediately leaps in her hand, twitching and lengthening in the early stages of arousal. He feels the dull pangs of it, too, but honestly the closest thing he's felt to this was when that zombie spirit was inside of him manually forcing him up.
She repeats the order and his dick leaps again. He hisses at the strange feeling, but something about her soft order to let her feel him, the gentle reminder that she finds him beautiful, grounds him that she is not the thing that is unsafe. Not remotely.
He kisses her forehead, then moves to kiss her mouth -- properly. Gentle but firm. He doesn't entirely trust his words, but he trusts this between them.
"You take good care of me, Mistress," he whispers, the hand not compelled to stroke her coming to brush her face. There are moments he can see the arousal reach her expression, and genuine pangs of want answer back in him. He hates that this situation gets to touch that space between them, but he's not sorry to make her feel good, especially if he has some control over his actions.
He's fully hardened by now, so he slips a third finger in her, knowing she likes the girth of it. "Play with my sack," he says. That gets him started better, and hard or not, he isn't that sensitive. "Then with my tip. And when you're close, tell me to come for you. That should be fastest." It's so...surgical. There's almost nothing intimate about it.