[The discussion becomes hazy background to the tug of the chain as it's drawn forward and hooked over the jut of Cy's dick, reeling him in — finding the sight of it snagged just at the crown of the head unbearably erotic. Then it slips further, and he's guided, and there's nothing left to do but satiate the call of that need in demonstration of what he has been taught.
Cy's words sink like rocks thrown into a lake of lust, and he dutifully bends his head forward. He braces his hand against the edge of the bed and uses only his mouth, licking up the salty smear of precome from that slit in laps of a tongue, letting his exhalations come in humid bursts over wet skin. He wants to bury his face into the crotch of Cy's lap and he doesn't deny himself this desire — nuzzling his cheek, rubbing his mouth at the base of Cy's cock for the heavy heat of it, uncaring as the parted fabric of slacks digs into his chin. The chain pulls for the reach; his breath stutters out at the answering sharpness of pinched flesh, nipples beginning to feel sore from continued pressure.
Slut, Cy calls him, and it distills a fever in him. It's hard to guess its source beyond the drive to please, to be used, cradled by the knowledge that Cy cares foremost for his well-being. And this is exemplified by the bell in his fist, warmed by his skin, silent but ready if needed.
He diligently uses his tongue to lick Cy's cock from tip to root, lathering it in wetness, memorizing the rigid shape against his lips. Once he might have found this scenario subservient, demeaning in a way cut too close to the wick of his identity — now Sasuke feels no shame in slipping the hot rim of his mouth over the head of Cy's dick with reverent hunger. He slides right down to test the extent of his gag reflex, simply wanting to feel full.]
no subject
Cy's words sink like rocks thrown into a lake of lust, and he dutifully bends his head forward. He braces his hand against the edge of the bed and uses only his mouth, licking up the salty smear of precome from that slit in laps of a tongue, letting his exhalations come in humid bursts over wet skin. He wants to bury his face into the crotch of Cy's lap and he doesn't deny himself this desire — nuzzling his cheek, rubbing his mouth at the base of Cy's cock for the heavy heat of it, uncaring as the parted fabric of slacks digs into his chin. The chain pulls for the reach; his breath stutters out at the answering sharpness of pinched flesh, nipples beginning to feel sore from continued pressure.
Slut, Cy calls him, and it distills a fever in him. It's hard to guess its source beyond the drive to please, to be used, cradled by the knowledge that Cy cares foremost for his well-being. And this is exemplified by the bell in his fist, warmed by his skin, silent but ready if needed.
He diligently uses his tongue to lick Cy's cock from tip to root, lathering it in wetness, memorizing the rigid shape against his lips. Once he might have found this scenario subservient, demeaning in a way cut too close to the wick of his identity — now Sasuke feels no shame in slipping the hot rim of his mouth over the head of Cy's dick with reverent hunger. He slides right down to test the extent of his gag reflex, simply wanting to feel full.]