[ Ears prick forward, the pink triangle of tongue that wets his lips a clear illustration of how he drinks down the sound of Wriothesley's ecstasy. Untouched, the man enjoys getting fucked enough to come like this; even the way his body quakes and grips him fills the puppet with a sense of soaring victory. He's pleased Wriothesley, he's making Wrio crumble under the weight of his pleasure. And Pinocchio's not finished with him, not by far. ]
That's it, [ he hilts himself in deep, a clap of his hips against his seat, ] I'll give it all to you.
[ The unrelenting chain of forceful thrusts continues unabated, even as Wriothesley's sensitivity might make it too much to bear. Twisting his long train of hair around his wrist and fist, he pulls, slow and firm as he pistons into him. ] A meal this fine, I want another serving. —Come here.
[ His metal arm pushes across his midsection, hefting him upright, back to Pinocchio's chest, planting a foot on the mattress so that he can fuck up into him. His tongue drags, wet and warm, up the rivulet of sweat clinging to his cheek. ]
no subject
That's it, [ he hilts himself in deep, a clap of his hips against his seat, ] I'll give it all to you.
[ The unrelenting chain of forceful thrusts continues unabated, even as Wriothesley's sensitivity might make it too much to bear. Twisting his long train of hair around his wrist and fist, he pulls, slow and firm as he pistons into him. ] A meal this fine, I want another serving. —Come here.
[ His metal arm pushes across his midsection, hefting him upright, back to Pinocchio's chest, planting a foot on the mattress so that he can fuck up into him. His tongue drags, wet and warm, up the rivulet of sweat clinging to his cheek. ]