price ramming chronic-illed! reader.
his cock stretched out every single spot you were unable to reach with your fingers, thrusting relentlessly, hips thrashing forwards into that "tight little cunt" taking your disease to his advantage. poor little wifey, struggling to move your hips back to sink on his cock.
or when you'd be on top, your thighs quivering— wet with his juices and dark with bruises of his kisses. your hips stuttering trying to roll your hips, only to clench that tight pussy on his weeping cock, his dark curls damp with your loads. not only that but it also means that you can't fight back when he finally presses his lips to your slit, making out with her, eating like a starved man, as if he had waited for a proclamation or a bill to be declared before ravishing and railing his fingers knuckle-deep inside of you.