He's not far off at all. His mouth isn't exactly clean and neither is her mother's, but she is more interested in hearing him, what he says to the women he fucks (that she knows of) and what they say in response. Because that's what he likes and she wants to give him what he likes so he likes her. It comes naturally too perhaps, she knows the words and she knows what she wants, they just come out when he is staring at her with his dark eyes, with his tongue buried inside of her, pressing in between her legs like an eager boyfriend. Get her wet enough, worked up enough and he can finally put his cock inside of her.
"I could hear you, sometimes, when you thought I was asleep and you'd bring someone home. I could hear you through the door. I wanted to know what you liked in the women you fuck." Her fingers twist in his hair, twirling around her fingers as she stops watching him for a moment in order to groan. Yes, tongue, licking and licking and for everything he laps up she just gives more to him. His shift has her opening her eyes and sitting up even more to watch him push a finger inside of her. Feeling it - that's one thing. Seeing it - that makes it so much more real.
She cries out, her hand falling from his hair to herself, spreading herself open, one leg nearly falling off the bed in her attempt to get herself open enough for him. Just one finger, there is a slight ache but more pleasure then anything else and she stares, panting, disheveled as he fingers her. "It's tight isn't it? I'm not wicked, daddy, I saved myself for you. So you could feel how good I am, and you could show me how to fuck. Oh, I'm a good girl, daddy. You're the wicked one, making me wait this long for you."
Another finger, and another cry, this is a little more ache but she finds it worth it. The pain just makes everything else feel good and as soon as his finger pushes inside of her she squeezes around him, coaxing him deeper, her hips rocking against him slightly, fucking herself on him as she watches from above her vision growing cloudy as her need grows. When she comes for the second time her hips arch high and freeze as she cries out, eyes falling shut helplessly as she falls back against the bed. There is no staying up, staying up would require brain energy that should be devoted to her orgasm, and she gives over to it, rocking herself on his fingers, crying out his name, and wetting his fingers and the sheets. The wetter she gets the easier his fingers are to take.
"Daddy, oh, fuck!" She writhes for him, reaching for - something - him - more. This overwhelming need for more, even his fingers aren't enough.
no subject
"I could hear you, sometimes, when you thought I was asleep and you'd bring someone home. I could hear you through the door. I wanted to know what you liked in the women you fuck." Her fingers twist in his hair, twirling around her fingers as she stops watching him for a moment in order to groan. Yes, tongue, licking and licking and for everything he laps up she just gives more to him. His shift has her opening her eyes and sitting up even more to watch him push a finger inside of her. Feeling it - that's one thing. Seeing it - that makes it so much more real.
She cries out, her hand falling from his hair to herself, spreading herself open, one leg nearly falling off the bed in her attempt to get herself open enough for him. Just one finger, there is a slight ache but more pleasure then anything else and she stares, panting, disheveled as he fingers her. "It's tight isn't it? I'm not wicked, daddy, I saved myself for you. So you could feel how good I am, and you could show me how to fuck. Oh, I'm a good girl, daddy. You're the wicked one, making me wait this long for you."
Another finger, and another cry, this is a little more ache but she finds it worth it. The pain just makes everything else feel good and as soon as his finger pushes inside of her she squeezes around him, coaxing him deeper, her hips rocking against him slightly, fucking herself on him as she watches from above her vision growing cloudy as her need grows. When she comes for the second time her hips arch high and freeze as she cries out, eyes falling shut helplessly as she falls back against the bed. There is no staying up, staying up would require brain energy that should be devoted to her orgasm, and she gives over to it, rocking herself on his fingers, crying out his name, and wetting his fingers and the sheets. The wetter she gets the easier his fingers are to take.
"Daddy, oh, fuck!" She writhes for him, reaching for - something - him - more. This overwhelming need for more, even his fingers aren't enough.