#fully clothed

[chlobody]

a church in the mountains

[ me, shot by the incredible @ohseephotography ]

[chaoticcompersion]

Good Boys Don’t Whine•D

He’s a mess.

Shaking. Gasping. His body is too sensitive, too weak, too wrecked to handle any more, but I don’t stop. I won’t stop. Not until I decide he’s had enough.

His head is buried in the crook of my neck, breath coming in shallow little pants, fingers digging into my thighs like he’s holding on for dear life.

“S’too much,” he whimpers. His voice is wrecked, almost pathetic, like he actually thinks I’ll have mercy on him.

I smirk.

My hand keeps working him, slow but relentless, his cock twitching against my palm. He’s soaked, completely at my mercy, dripping down my fingers like he doesn’t know how to stop giving in to me.

“Too much?” I echo, dragging my lips over his ear, letting my breath tickle his heated skin. “Then why are you still begging for more?”

He shudders, trying to shake his head, trying to fight it, but his body betrays him. His hips keep twitching up into my fist, desperate for friction, for release, for me.

“You really thought I was gonna let you off that easy?” I hum, tightening my grip just to hear him choke on a moan.

He whimpers. Tries to bury his face in my neck, as if he can hide from what I’m doing to him.

“Look at you,” I coo, sliding my free hand into his hair, tugging just enough to tilt his head back. His blown-out pupils meet mine, hazy with exhaustion and desperation, his lips quivering like he’s about to fall apart.

God, he looks so pretty like this.

“So fucked out and needy,” I murmur, letting my nails rake against his scalp. “And you’re still whining? Tsk. What kind of good boy does that?”

He gasps at the words, his whole body tensing, his cock twitching in my palm.

Oh?

A slow smirk curls across my lips. Interesting.

I loosen my grip on him, just to hear the way he whines—a frustrated, desperate little sound—and then I squeeze, watching his thighs tremble as his breath stutters.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” I whisper, voice dripping in amusement. “My pathetic little thing, so desperate to be good for me.”

He makes a broken noise, somewhere between a moan and a plea.

I laugh.

Then I tighten my grip on his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “Tell me.”

“I—” His voice is barely there, his whole body trembling.

“Tell me,” I repeat, lips brushing against his. “Tell me how bad you want to be my good boy.”

His breath hitches. His fingers tighten against my thighs, nails digging into soft skin. I feel the way his body locks up, the way he teeters right on the edge.

"Please," he gasps. "Please let me be good for you."

There it is.

My hand moves faster, teasing his achingly sensitive tip, working him until he’s whimpering, writhing, barely holding himself together.

“Then give it to me,” I whisper against his lips. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

He shatters.

His whole body jerks as he falls apart in my hands, cum spilling over my fingers in thick, messy spurts. His thighs quiver, his voice breaks, and the only thing he can do is hold onto me, moaning my name like a fucking prayer.

I ride him through it, letting him soak my hand, dragging out every last drop until he’s twitching, overstimulated, gasping for breath.

And then I pull away.

He lets out a soft, wrecked whimper, burying his face in my shoulder, shaking from the aftershocks.

I let him rest. For now.

But my fingers trail down his spine, slow, teasing.

Because I’m not done with him yet.

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