#straddle

[appreciation6]

[dk-thrive]

Song Sparrow. 11:30 a.m. 32° F. December 26, 2024. Darien, CT (@dkct25).

[posebox-guide]

The Well Animation Box by TheOnlyException

Fist Fight > Puncher (female) Fist Fight > Punchee (male)

[talent-wins-games]

Need this right now 😮‍💨

[broadcastbabe]

I’m not so much a muse as I am a break in your punishing practice session. An important concert approaches and you are obsessed with the perfection of your performance in the large arena. This is far from that reality, being one-on-one and making a very different type of musical harmony. Encouraging me to be boisterous as I am pleasured, you call out the pitch of the notes I moan with blissful abandon. Forever creative, you adjust yourself inside me like a tuning fork to guide the proceedings that please your ear. You tell me you will picture me, straddling you as I do now, for inspiration when you play for the throngs. You ease my skirt up to spy our connection as your thrusts become less subtle. My body being knocked back against the keyboard creates a faint rhythmic backdrop to my increasingly deeper moans. My dress is eased further and further up my body in search of a full immersion with my gorgeous breasts. They are nuzzled and suckled until I am quite dizzy with the attention and pleading for a release. Your probes have become profound to that end and your own groans have become syncopated in perfect time with entering me relentlessly. You harmonize with my runaway noise and we cum together in a symphonic crescendo. I am limply draped against the upright as you are inspired to play simple chords around me, leaning in to kiss my breasts as I recover to the serenade. I extricate myself to allow you to continue practicing without my distraction. You call after me to report the venue has just informed him their Steinway is finished being tuned… so we need to reconvene there for a private practice session, with the baby grand. You suggest I dress myself in a low-cut evening gown befitting the hall to accompany you while you continue to fine tune your performance.

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[aerialarchive]

Sling entrances to seat

Thursday, 7/25/24

[shakespearian-love]

Ravenous with you ❦

[nanihirunkits]

I always wanted to touch the rainbow.

MY EX'S WEDDING (2024)

[bixels]

Important: Ghibli's first butch masc woman.

[talent-wins-games]

This is all I want right now 😮‍💨 Is this too much to ask for?

[bobbysfirehose]

settle your weight on my lap

settle your hands on my waist

had the urge to draw buck straddling eddie’s lap, so i drew it. that’s it.

also their skin looked too boring so i added body freckles…

[taitavva]

body swap

[seaside-tropical-sun]

I am CONVINCED that if sj had won 1 (one!) of their fights it would’ve permanently rearranged lqg’s few brain cells into mad puppy love

[drgnflyteabox]

18+mdni, best friends younger brother!johnny comes back from deployment and corners you in her living room, gross dirty talk, super dubcon, reader says "don't" but johnny does, fingering, cross swinging on his hairy chest, a bit of humiliation, "little" used affectionately (and grossly) not as a size indicator, random pet names

“Yer such a pretty little girl,” Johnny breathes. He's sick, so sick. Your stomach tightens and flips as he drags his fingers over your bare thighs. You don’t stop him.

“So soft,” he murmurs against your neck. “Aren't ye?”

An uncontrollable tremor starts in you, building from your belly. You gasp when he reaches your panties, legs frozen, like they’re unsure of whether to open or close.

Johnny's always been dirty and weird, inappropriate and pushy. The kind of guy that takes eye contact as an invitation to start acting like a dog. It's only now that he's got you alone, hand up your skirt, that you realize all of Maisie’s warnings were really serious.

Those intense eyes burn into the side of your face, watching every little micromovement you make as he rubs your clit through the fabric of your panties. You're hot in the face, embarrassed, unsure. You think of Maisie walking back in the front door, of her parents, of anybody seeing you this way.

“Ah can see yer thinkin’,” Johnny says. His fingers pull the damp gusset aside and finally touch wetness.

“Maybe we should stop,” you rush out. Your breath is coming heavy, now. Labored. You're trembling worse, hand coming up to squeeze Johnny's shirt in your fist.

“Shh, it's fine,” he says. “Yer a good little girl, aren't ye? Be good.”

“I’m older than you,” you laugh, shifting your hips, squirming.

Johnny grins and leans in to suck your earlobe, puffing hot breaths against your jaw. The rough pads of his fingers pull the hood of your clit up, then press down onto your vulnerable clit.

You suck in a breath, jerking upwards, running from the intensity of the feeling. Blood rushes in your ears, a high keening sound cutting through the air, rising from your throat.

“Oh, God, don’t do it like that–”

But he continues, climbing bodily into your lap to hold your hips down. God, he’s fucking heavy. He shoves his hand fully into your panties, leaning over you. Rubs without mercy.

You shout, struggling a little, breath caught in your throat.

“S’alright, pretty girl,” he grunts. He pulls his hand out only for a moment to pull his shirt off, reaching right back down as your mouth opens and closes helplessly.

“Maisie–”

“Isnae gonnae be back fer another half hour,” he cuts you off, curling two fingers into your hole. It’s too much, too much, too much, but you arch your back and whine.

Your vision gets hazy, stuck under him, so close you can smell his musk and his shitty cologne. His chest, bare, hairy, takes second place to the cross swinging in your face as he stuffs his fingers in and out clumsily.

He growls over you, using his other hand to grab yours and grinding into it. You’re loose, useless, gasping and sighing, muscles jellified.

The cross stares you down, but it only serves to make your cunt even tighter on his fingers. Squeezing. You stare at it, then past it, at his fat pecs.

“Makin’ a mess of ye, honeypie,” he licks your cheek, tongue close enough to your eye that you flinch, pushing his chest and shoulders close enough that you feel boxed in. You can’t move, can’t hump his fingers desperately like you want to.

Your cheek is wet with his spit, drying cold.

“That’s right, honeypie, ye gonnae come fer me?”

He uses your hand like a toy, grinding hard into it, groaning. His pace is messy, staccato rhythm making your wrist sore with the force of it.

“Gimme it,” he pants.

You start to come, trapped and crushed and face falling forward into the warmth of him, shaking though your legs are trapped by his bulk. Johnny notices, grunting words you can’t hear into your ear, pressing impossibly closer, and following suit.

When you slump, shivering with the aftershocks, Johnny sits back on your lap and pulls his fingers out of you. He puts them in his own pants, into his own mess, and brings his hand up to your mouth.

“Show me yer tongue,” he says, voice still thick.

You frown, scrunching your face, turning away.

“Maisie–”

“Sh,” he cuts you off. “Open yer mouth, show me yer tongue.”

“Gross–”

When you don’t, he squeezes your jaw until you open your mouth, tongue out.

He rubs the mix of you both on his tongue, all four fingers stuffing your mouth, making you cough and choke.

“Better get cleaned up,” he laughs when he’s done, sliding back onto the couch with the attitude of a lazy cat. “Maisie's gonnae be back any second now, honeypie."

[pissmamiii]

devour me?