[There is most certainly a better way to do this--she knows this, and in theory had at least something in mind when she started all this. But there's not much related to "mind" at all at this point, not with the roaming of his hands and the desperation in his voice and the heat everywhere they touch--and the places they can't quite.
What she should do is lay him down and tease him further--slowly undress, massage him everywhere but where he really needs it, maybe make him get her off another few times before considering his release.
What she wants to do is match every snap of his hips with one of her own, or even ramp the pace further--press body to body to feel the shudder of his breathing and the twitch of his muscles and the clench of his limbs (and other things) around her, and the idea of pulling away even enough to partially undress is painful to consider.
She manages at least to shove the hem of the dress up around his chest on a fresh round of groping; eventually forces herself to risk breaking the kiss if only due to petticoats getting in the way. Hopefully a grunt and a tug at his sides is enough to get him to lift up so she can get it over his head, since words are a lot to ask at present]
[He whimpers, when she breaks the kiss - makes to reach out and pull her back in, before he feels the tug and realizes what it is she wants]
[He curses, breathless, and levers himself up so she can peel off the dress, uncharacteristically clumsy and decidedly shaky. He tries to help, but probably at this point is more of a hindrance, not least because he can't seen to stop squirming beneath her, still desperate for friction]
[She doesn't exactly stop that part either, easily carried away enough to blindly follow his lead, even though there are still just as many layers of fabric between them as before.
The dress, at least, is ripped away and discarded, and her expression is even more eager to see the flush over his pale skin and the expanse of freckles stretching from head to toe.
Just looking is only enough for a moment, and her hands reach out almost of their own accord, greedily pressing over his chest and flicking over his nipples and skimming down his belly, to the waistband of the incredibly poorly named chastity belt]
[Beneath the dress, he's all freckles and pale skin and a flush that has long since stretched to his chest. The lithe lines of him are in constant motion, from the heaving of his chest as he pants for breath to the way his hips shift and shimmy]
[The chastity belt seems to have done a decent job of keeping something in check, at least, though the leather is visibly damp, and the skin visible between the straps even more so]
[He hisses in a gasp at the touch to his nipples - rocks up helplessly when her hand reaches the waistband, as though the motion will somehow get her touch where he needs it]
[Already distracted, her fingers dip under his waistband, just barely brushing against the tip of his cock--gets further distracted attempting to wipe up the mess with her slacks as she leans in for another kiss.
Mismatched hands trace up his hipbones and squeeze at his glutes, as if the world will end if she stops mapping his skin for even another second. But she had been in the middle of something, and she breaks from his mouth to pick up the reply, more than a little breathless]
[He makes a strangled sort of sound, when her finger finds the tip of his cock - bucks up against her, entirely unable to keep himself from pressing in for more]
[He greets the kiss like he needs it to keep breathing - squirms obligingly under the path of her hands - closes his fingers around her shirt, as though to keep her from pulling away. When she does finally break the kiss, his pupils are completely blown; he licks at his lips, expression a little dazed]
Yeah. That's - yeah.
[He's reaching for her pockets with shaky hands - runs the pads of his thumbs over the curves of her hips, searching for the outline of the key]
[She wriggles into his touch, helpful; he'll find it in the front left pocket but is welcome to check them all.
In the meantime she dives back into the kiss for as long as her breath can hold, pulling back for the reward of his dazed expression before licking into him again.
Her hands run down his thighs to the seam, then scrape back up the backs with blunt nails--continue up to squeeze at his ass, fingertips dipping into the crevice between and running along the thin leather thong]
[He does check them all, hands roving greedily over the shape of her through the barrier of fabric - gets a little distracted, maybe, at the back pockets, squeezing at the curve of her ass before he carries on his way]
[The kiss is more distracting still, and the teasing path of her hands most of all; he's clumsy as he slips his fingers into her pocket to dig the key out, working by touch alone. The thought of breaking the kiss to see what he's doing seems like an atrocity when he could have her mouth instead, the heat and the wet of it, the enthusiasm of her clever tongue]
[He groans into her mouth, at the scrape of her nails - at the way her fingertips follow that strip of leather - and he rocks forward into nothing, all but desperate - back again, pressing into her touch]
[She feels like she'd said she wouldn't tease him anymore--probably--but it's hard not to when he's so reactive. Why wouldn't she want to feel him arch up into her, or the dig of his fingers into her flesh, or the pleasant, welcoming chill of his tongue against hers? How could she keep from wanting to draw out how he trembles beneath her, or hear more of the desperation in his voice, or find out how much more intense it could grow?
So her fingertips scrape unevenly over the flats of his thighs for endless greedy moments; they venture between his cheeks again, a little too eager for thorough exploration of what's above and below the leather thong, but attentive enough to work out the broad strokes of what's okay and what isn't. And of course if there's something else he wants--she figures--there's nothing stopping him from forcing the issue, even flat on his back on the sofa. She's pretty sure he's gotten the key by now, at least]
[It's all okay, judging by his reactions - better than okay, if the way he whimpers at the soft brush of her fingers is any indication]
[He can't seem to keep his hips still - they make needy, restless rocking motions - and he can't seem to stop kissing her, either, licking into her mouth like he needs it to live]
[He does in fact have the key now, even though his hands are decidedly unsteady as they make to slide it into the lock; there's the soft scrape of metal against metal, and for a long moment, he manages nothing more than to fumble it, too caught up with kissing her to try to do this by sight]
[It probably doesn't help that she does very little to get out of the way, though after a couple times of being poked in the belly she reluctantly leaves off from his behind to place her hands over his--drags off his lower lip to slowly rock back on her knees]
Guess you've done your time...
[Her voice is gravelly, face flushed and eager, glasses discarded somewhen along the way. She traces up the soaked leather cage from his perineum to the lock at his waist, none-too-gently cupping the base of the basket as she turns the key and unlatches the buckle. From there it's easy to work down the garment so he can spring free. She licks her lips, pupils dark]
So? How do you want it? You been so good, I'll let you choose, this time.
[She nods, letting out a breathy sound, awed at how needy he is for it, the desperation in his voice. One hand cups his cheek, gentle; the other wraps her fingers firmly around his dick.
For all the eagerness she starts out slow and careful, tugging up to the flare of his head and swiping over the flat of it, before dragging back down to the base and starting again. Her brows ridge in concentration, gaze flicking between his cock and his expression, as if wanting to be certain both approve]
[He shudders forward into the heat of her hand - can't help but press in for more, needing the pressure of her fingers and the slow drag of friction after so long without]
[The sound that leaves him is frankly desperate, long and wavering and more than a little breathless, and he reaches out to clutch at her waist with both hands, as though to keep her there]
[By all indications, he approves enthusiastically; he twitches in her hand, hard, a new drop of moisture welling up at the tip. His eyes have squeezed closed and his mouth fallen open, and his chest is heaving like he can't seem to get enough air]
[Approval noted. Her teeth sink into her lower lip at the sight of him--at the weight of him in her hand and the shudder beneath her with each breath, and she squirms in place a little, hardly needing his grip to keep her in place.
The pump of her hand starts getting up to speed; not fast, but closer to the crisp pace his hips are already suggesting. He's more than slick enough that friction is not a problem, and she grips a little tighter every few strokes to keep from slipping right off.
Her free hand trails down his cheek and over his face, fingertips glowing a pale violet as they press into the softness of his lower lip]
[He doesn't seem to notice the glow - can't, considering the position of her hand, but it's possible that even if he could, he wouldn't. After all, he's really very distracted]
[His hips are stuttering up into her hold on every downstroke; he plants his feet on the couch for better leverage, back bowing as he presses himself in, needy for whatever she'll give him. His hands release their hold, seemingly reassured that she doesn't mean to go anywhere - begin to wander, overher hips and her ass and the curves of her breasts]
[Her breath hitches at his touch and she shifts again, subtly rolling into his thigh along with the pace of her hand.
The prosthetic continues down his neck and over his sternum, flicks unnaturally cool over one pink nipple, then the next. Then they roll it between finger and thumb, sure as the thumb that scrapes over his frenulum every second or third stroke]
[His hands squeeze at her breasts and then run back down her sides, restless - come to settle at her hips again, tugging her in to rock more firmly against his thigh]
[He makes a choked sort of noise, when her thumb catches at his frenulum the first time; his head falls back against the couch, and his eyebrows knit together as though in concentration]
[At the first touch against his nipple, he whimpers - squirms when she moves to the other - outright jolts when she catches it between two fingers and rolls it. His cock twitches hard in her hand, another clear drop of moisture welling up. The restless rocking has gone shaky and decidedly erratic; if she knows his tells, by all indications he's close]
[At the look of him--at the sound of him she groans out another curse and grinds harder against his thigh--bows closer in to get that much deeper, tweaking at his nipple at nipping at his lower lip. But she's got a little farther to go here too, and keeps moving down his body, leaving messy kisses over the soft skin of his neck.
The trail continues to drift as she fists his cock, grip firm and pace hard. The twitches and trembles are obvious tells, if the constant dribble of precome wasn't enough. But of course it isn't enough, even if the dig of his fingers into her sides as he rocks beneath her is amazing and the raw desire in his tone is twice that.
With another groan she laps at his nipple before latching on, rolling the other between cool fingers and giving it a light tug]
[At the tug of her hand and the pinch of her fingers and the soft, wet attention of her mouth, it all suddenly tips from not quite enough to just plenty. All of the pressure coiling tighter and tighter inside him crests and then breaks]
[He gives a strangled cry as he comes, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open, hips stuttering to a stop as his spills across her fingers, far more copious than the precome from before]
[For long moments, he knows nothing but pleasure, great crashing waves of it that white out everything but her touch]
[With a groan against his chest, she works him through it, mouth warm and fingers sure as his cock pulses in her grip. Even as the jerk of his hips begins to slow, her hand keeps pumping, milking as much of his release as she can.
Only when he finally seems on the verge of being overstimulated does she loosen her grip a little, reluctantly unlatching from his nipple in favor of gentler, lingering kisses over his sternum and collarbone]
[He shakes and shudders his way through his release, back bowed and fingers clutching at her as though to ground him]
[When she pulls away at last, he collapses back against the couch, well and truly spent. His chest is still heaving; fine tremors still run through his limbs]
[For a long moment, he can't collect himself enough to say anything at all]
[Perhaps that's response enough, from the lurid, awed smile that spreads over her lips.
She pulls back to just look at him, flushed and panting; pushes the hair away from his brow with her clean hand even as she draws through the mess on his belly with the other.]
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What she should do is lay him down and tease him further--slowly undress, massage him everywhere but where he really needs it, maybe make him get her off another few times before considering his release.
What she wants to do is match every snap of his hips with one of her own, or even ramp the pace further--press body to body to feel the shudder of his breathing and the twitch of his muscles and the clench of his limbs (and other things) around her, and the idea of pulling away even enough to partially undress is painful to consider.
She manages at least to shove the hem of the dress up around his chest on a fresh round of groping; eventually forces herself to risk breaking the kiss if only due to petticoats getting in the way. Hopefully a grunt and a tug at his sides is enough to get him to lift up so she can get it over his head, since words are a lot to ask at present]
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[He curses, breathless, and levers himself up so she can peel off the dress, uncharacteristically clumsy and decidedly shaky. He tries to help, but probably at this point is more of a hindrance, not least because he can't seen to stop squirming beneath her, still desperate for friction]
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The dress, at least, is ripped away and discarded, and her expression is even more eager to see the flush over his pale skin and the expanse of freckles stretching from head to toe.
Just looking is only enough for a moment, and her hands reach out almost of their own accord, greedily pressing over his chest and flicking over his nipples and skimming down his belly, to the waistband of the incredibly poorly named chastity belt]
You want...?
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[The chastity belt seems to have done a decent job of keeping something in check, at least, though the leather is visibly damp, and the skin visible between the straps even more so]
[He hisses in a gasp at the touch to his nipples - rocks up helplessly when her hand reaches the waistband, as though the motion will somehow get her touch where he needs it]
J-jesus, yeah, please - yeah.
You - you got the key, right?
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[Already distracted, her fingers dip under his waistband, just barely brushing against the tip of his cock--gets further distracted attempting to wipe up the mess with her slacks as she leans in for another kiss.
Mismatched hands trace up his hipbones and squeeze at his glutes, as if the world will end if she stops mapping his skin for even another second. But she had been in the middle of something, and she breaks from his mouth to pick up the reply, more than a little breathless]
...Pocket, I think.
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[He greets the kiss like he needs it to keep breathing - squirms obligingly under the path of her hands - closes his fingers around her shirt, as though to keep her from pulling away. When she does finally break the kiss, his pupils are completely blown; he licks at his lips, expression a little dazed]
Yeah. That's - yeah.
[He's reaching for her pockets with shaky hands - runs the pads of his thumbs over the curves of her hips, searching for the outline of the key]
no subject
[She wriggles into his touch, helpful; he'll find it in the front left pocket but is welcome to check them all.
In the meantime she dives back into the kiss for as long as her breath can hold, pulling back for the reward of his dazed expression before licking into him again.
Her hands run down his thighs to the seam, then scrape back up the backs with blunt nails--continue up to squeeze at his ass, fingertips dipping into the crevice between and running along the thin leather thong]
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[The kiss is more distracting still, and the teasing path of her hands most of all; he's clumsy as he slips his fingers into her pocket to dig the key out, working by touch alone. The thought of breaking the kiss to see what he's doing seems like an atrocity when he could have her mouth instead, the heat and the wet of it, the enthusiasm of her clever tongue]
[He groans into her mouth, at the scrape of her nails - at the way her fingertips follow that strip of leather - and he rocks forward into nothing, all but desperate - back again, pressing into her touch]
no subject
So her fingertips scrape unevenly over the flats of his thighs for endless greedy moments; they venture between his cheeks again, a little too eager for thorough exploration of what's above and below the leather thong, but attentive enough to work out the broad strokes of what's okay and what isn't. And of course if there's something else he wants--she figures--there's nothing stopping him from forcing the issue, even flat on his back on the sofa. She's pretty sure he's gotten the key by now, at least]
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[He can't seem to keep his hips still - they make needy, restless rocking motions - and he can't seem to stop kissing her, either, licking into her mouth like he needs it to live]
[He does in fact have the key now, even though his hands are decidedly unsteady as they make to slide it into the lock; there's the soft scrape of metal against metal, and for a long moment, he manages nothing more than to fumble it, too caught up with kissing her to try to do this by sight]
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Guess you've done your time...
[Her voice is gravelly, face flushed and eager, glasses discarded somewhen along the way. She traces up the soaked leather cage from his perineum to the lock at his waist, none-too-gently cupping the base of the basket as she turns the key and unlatches the buckle. From there it's easy to work down the garment so he can spring free. She licks her lips, pupils dark]
So? How do you want it? You been so good, I'll let you choose, this time.
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[He does spring free, as soon as she releases him; his cock is red and dripping, curved hard and ready up toward his stomach]
Just - jesus, just - anything, touch me, Xia -
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For all the eagerness she starts out slow and careful, tugging up to the flare of his head and swiping over the flat of it, before dragging back down to the base and starting again. Her brows ridge in concentration, gaze flicking between his cock and his expression, as if wanting to be certain both approve]
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[The sound that leaves him is frankly desperate, long and wavering and more than a little breathless, and he reaches out to clutch at her waist with both hands, as though to keep her there]
[By all indications, he approves enthusiastically; he twitches in her hand, hard, a new drop of moisture welling up at the tip. His eyes have squeezed closed and his mouth fallen open, and his chest is heaving like he can't seem to get enough air]
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The pump of her hand starts getting up to speed; not fast, but closer to the crisp pace his hips are already suggesting. He's more than slick enough that friction is not a problem, and she grips a little tighter every few strokes to keep from slipping right off.
Her free hand trails down his cheek and over his face, fingertips glowing a pale violet as they press into the softness of his lower lip]
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[His hips are stuttering up into her hold on every downstroke; he plants his feet on the couch for better leverage, back bowing as he presses himself in, needy for whatever she'll give him. His hands release their hold, seemingly reassured that she doesn't mean to go anywhere - begin to wander, overher hips and her ass and the curves of her breasts]
X-Xia - Oh my god -
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[Her breath hitches at his touch and she shifts again, subtly rolling into his thigh along with the pace of her hand.
The prosthetic continues down his neck and over his sternum, flicks unnaturally cool over one pink nipple, then the next. Then they roll it between finger and thumb, sure as the thumb that scrapes over his frenulum every second or third stroke]
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[He makes a choked sort of noise, when her thumb catches at his frenulum the first time; his head falls back against the couch, and his eyebrows knit together as though in concentration]
[At the first touch against his nipple, he whimpers - squirms when she moves to the other - outright jolts when she catches it between two fingers and rolls it. His cock twitches hard in her hand, another clear drop of moisture welling up. The restless rocking has gone shaky and decidedly erratic; if she knows his tells, by all indications he's close]
Xia - please -
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The trail continues to drift as she fists his cock, grip firm and pace hard. The twitches and trembles are obvious tells, if the constant dribble of precome wasn't enough. But of course it isn't enough, even if the dig of his fingers into her sides as he rocks beneath her is amazing and the raw desire in his tone is twice that.
With another groan she laps at his nipple before latching on, rolling the other between cool fingers and giving it a light tug]
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[He gives a strangled cry as he comes, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open, hips stuttering to a stop as his spills across her fingers, far more copious than the precome from before]
[For long moments, he knows nothing but pleasure, great crashing waves of it that white out everything but her touch]
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Only when he finally seems on the verge of being overstimulated does she loosen her grip a little, reluctantly unlatching from his nipple in favor of gentler, lingering kisses over his sternum and collarbone]
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[When she pulls away at last, he collapses back against the couch, well and truly spent. His chest is still heaving; fine tremors still run through his limbs]
[For a long moment, he can't collect himself enough to say anything at all]
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She pulls back to just look at him, flushed and panting; pushes the hair away from his brow with her clean hand even as she draws through the mess on his belly with the other.]
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Oh my god, dude.
[His voice is a little dazed, too - a little unsteady]
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[Her expression softens, accomplishment mixed with something terribly fond. She brushes over his cheek again, haloes of soft violet over his face]
You okay? Seemed like a lot.
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