Saturday night I pulled May up from the beige carpeted floor of our living room and onto our rough blue couch. He was wearing thin satin panties. A garter, a slippery nightgown. Pretty things. Pretty boy.
I held my lips over the skin of his throat and growled, feeling my lips peel back from my teeth. I climbed on top of him and ran my fingers through the air around his skin. He writhed upward, trying to make contact somewhere. Anywhere. I hid my laughter in his curls. He moaned. The bright pink tip of his cock slipped out the waist of the satin, and waved back and forth in the air.
After a little while I caught him up in a little ball, his legs folded close to his chest and my arms around his entire body. He tucked his chin down to his collar bone and looked up at me. Red eyelashes. He has red eyelashes. His mouth was trembling open, his eyes enormous.
“I love that look,” I murmured to him, just to watch him being sweet and coy. He flutters those eyelashes sometimes, when he’s pretty, when I compliment him. It goes right through my chest like a dart when he does that. I pressed my lips to his cheekbone, right at the corner of his eye. I smiled in his ear.
“You are so beautiful, precious, precious boy.”
One Comment
Lucky guy:)
There’s something about a woman calling a man a boy that is such a total turn-on for me. Such a simple word and I’d imagine would put me in headspace easier than anything on the planet.
Well..I’m just guessing.
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