The bite doesn’t break skin. It couldn’t -- Pearl’s neat little pebble teeth wouldn’t dare -- but it does pop a warm corsage of pain down Rose’s arm. Quick and liquid sienna. It’s a silky slice of sensation, one that unbuttons Rose’s present layer of arousal and lets rise a warmer, darker one.
“Oh.” The water cuts off. “Oh, honey.” Rose’s arms fall away from Pearl: slow. “You must be desperate not to leave this room on your feet.”
Then she turns her, again -- “You are desperate.” -- and herds her a stumbling half-step backwards into the corner of the stall.
Her finger still smarts delectably. Oh, oh. Rose hasn’t been bitten in awhile. (She’s missed it.) And all the tastier by being a trap, of course -- Pearl could have done nothing but bite down -- and one that Rose delights in making note of for the future. Maybe with a little tying down, too. And a nice, healthy vibe, buzzing away all friendly against her pretty little clit: driving her to the tipping point: and her trying so hard not to thrash away: trying so hard not to bite or clench: Rose cooing sugarspun sympathies, fondling the sounds right out of her mouth --
Oh, oh. She’d look so nervous. (And Rose needs these clothes off. Fuck.)
“If you can’t stand,” she croons: all deceptive, deadly softness, “Then you’ll sit.” She shapes her hand over Pearl’s shoulder and, with a responsible amount of force, shoves down.
no subject
“Oh.” The water cuts off. “Oh, honey.” Rose’s arms fall away from Pearl: slow. “You must be desperate not to leave this room on your feet.”
Then she turns her, again -- “You are desperate.” -- and herds her a stumbling half-step backwards into the corner of the stall.
Her finger still smarts delectably. Oh, oh. Rose hasn’t been bitten in awhile. (She’s missed it.) And all the tastier by being a trap, of course -- Pearl could have done nothing but bite down -- and one that Rose delights in making note of for the future. Maybe with a little tying down, too. And a nice, healthy vibe, buzzing away all friendly against her pretty little clit: driving her to the tipping point: and her trying so hard not to thrash away: trying so hard not to bite or clench: Rose cooing sugarspun sympathies, fondling the sounds right out of her mouth --
Oh, oh. She’d look so nervous. (And Rose needs these clothes off. Fuck.)
“If you can’t stand,” she croons: all deceptive, deadly softness, “Then you’ll sit.” She shapes her hand over Pearl’s shoulder and, with a responsible amount of force, shoves down.