ribbon | seonghwa | nsfw
seonghwa has done so well tonight.
you think this warrants a reward.
☆ 18+ only. MINORS, DO NOT ENGAGE.
☆ tags: seonghwa, park seonghwa is a bottom / switch, ateez after an award show, terms of endearment (i.e. angel, star, my love, pretty boy, good boy, etc.), seonghwa has a praise kink, nameless reader, strong language, consensual m/f sex, established relationship, award show becomes reward show, neediness, playing with ribbon, subtle teasing, subtle choke play (with said ribbon), gentle dom reader, l-word, mutual gratification, hand job, missionary, creampie (BUT USE PROTECTION IRL RAHH), aftercare, realistic au, open/implied continuation at ending
this is my first published work where seonghwa is a needy subby bottom ok please be nice to me ;-;
☆ word count: 5126
enjoy~
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“so pretty,” you muse, stroking the man’s hair.
he blushes. “thank you.”
seonghwa isn’t looking at himself in the mirror, though. he’s looking at you.
your fingers trail down the side of his face to his coat, where thin tendrils hang from various anchor points.
“did your stylist pick out these ribbons personally, baby?”
your other hand skims the side of his neck, feeling his pulse jump as you move to stand in front of him. he swallows when you start unplucking the lace and silk pieces one by one.
“they were attached to the jacket before we went on stage,” he murmurs softly. “the others have them too.”
you select a few, sliding them carefully free of the stitchings and tucking them into your pocket. “they suit you. do you mind if i save some for later, star?”
as you ask, you caress the collar of his shirt, almost tugging. he won’t refuse, but if he did, you’d stop in an instant and refasten them to their original places.
he blinks up at you, eyes deep and trusting. “you can take some,” he says in a small voice.
you tuck his hair behind his ear, then tilt his chin up a bit. “good,” you murmur, lowering your mouth to hover above his.
you don’t kiss him, though—not even when his lips part and he breathes out a sweet, silent whine.
instead, you drag one nail down his skin to the dip between his collarbones. “…i want to, but my lipstick will stain. do you want a kiss somewhere else?”
his nod has barely lifted when the button is freed. a quiet, shaky whimper leaves his lips as you kneel down in front of his chair and work free a second button, and an even needier noise erupts when you spread open the fabric to place a kiss over the left side of his chest.
your mouth waters, yearning to trail more kisses across his skin, to decorate that pretty freckle between his collarbones, the underside of his throat, the indented shape of the corner of his lips—anything to draw those goosebumps out of hiding.
yet you refrain, taking care as you redress him, fingers smoothing the buttons flat after they’ve been pushed through the holes. the stolen ribbons hang out of the pocket of your slacks, almost escaping when you rise from the floor. you absently push them deeper.
it’s time to let him go.
the look he gives you from where he sits is more than pleading.
you laugh in order to repress your own desire, caressing the side of his face. when he leans into your touch, you can’t help from placing one soft kiss on his hair.
“enough, star. i’ll see you after dinner.”
he sighs, climbing tenderly from his chair. “i’ll come find you.”
“i’ll be waiting,” you promise, eyeing the remaining bows on his suit jacket. “well done tonight, star. you deserve every moment of this celebration, you know. enjoy it.”
your praise warms his ears. he slips his arms around you in a grateful embrace before you head for the exit.
a mere half hour later, he’s sitting with his knees tucked under a heavy white tablecloth, using his fork and knife to portion out bites of medium-rare sirloin. the tomato is all that’s left of the salad, pushed as far from the center of the plate as possible. a glass of red wine sits half-empty to the upper right.
in the seat beside him, san is curious. he eyes the jacket and its vacant holes, then examines the ribbons fastened around his own bicep.
“did your bows fall off?”
seonghwa nearly chokes. he quickly raises his glass of wine to those cherry lips and forces everything down before answering. “um. yeah. i think they got lost in the confetti on stage.”
san grins. “man. those confetti canons tonight—they got me.“ he shakes his head. “did you jump?”
seonghwa smiles bashfully at his food. “they always get me.”
“they got me too,” mingi chimes in on his other side, mouth full of steak. “you’d think they could make some sort of silencer…”
as the relaxed chatter at dinner carries on, the reprieve of having the group’s hard work pay off is evident at the table. just hours prior, ateez had performed a medley of their biggest hits, been recognized for their feats on live television, then had been presented with a heavy award for their efforts.
artist of the year.
the tall golden figure now rests beside the empty bottle of wine, glinting under the dining lights as if to promise that they’re all going to remember this night for years to come.
seonghwa finds himself looking at the award in silent contemplation. yunho’s outfit from the show had consisted of a bow or two around each wrist and one large ribbon around his waist, the latter of which has been tied around the base of the statue, matching the group’s concept. seonghwa’s eyes are fixed on that black bow, not unlike one of the many you had removed from his suit. while pride and gratitude overwhelm him, he feels something else in the pit of his stomach. a pleasant sort of nervousness.
plates are cleared, and then dessert is served. fittingly, it is ube cheesecake with little bow-like garnishes. at the head of the table, hongjoong is laughing, asking the managers if they had something to do with the decorations.
seonghwa swallows, his mouth watering for more reasons than one, now.
a sudden urgency possesses him. he aims to savor the cake, but finishes far before the others. as the heat rises in his chest, he decides he’d better go before the flush creeps any farther up his neck.
the others bid him good night, even though some of them look surprised at his departure. the second round of wine has just been brought to the table.
seonghwa dips his head in honest thanks and promises to touch base with everyone in the morning.
”i think i just need some sleep,” he smiles weakly.
hongjoong and jongho share a knowing look.
“have a good night, hyung,” yeosang calls after him.
the others mirror the sentiment in a chorus, but most of them are far too invested in alcohol and dessert to notice the speed with which seonghwa strides to the door. if he had a tail, it would be tucked between his legs.
you are waiting upstairs in the hotel suite, still in the two piece set you had worn to the award show, cuffs still buttoned, heels still strapped. earlier, you had let your hair down and opened a bottle of wine, but it sits mostly untouched on the coffee table in front of the couch you are lounging on.
whenever the boys win big or perform on a world stage, you like to scour the socials and screenshot the most exciting posts. seonghwa’s mother appreciates your hand-picked content, but you’ll focus on sending everything to the group chat later. it’s pretty late anyway.
besides—right now, your thumb hovers under a particularly crisp photo of seonghwa in the suit he wears this evening. the jacket is cropped to accentuate his waist, and there is a flare of fabric sewn into the hips of the suit pants. combined with the bows, and the subtle beading, it’s an outfit you’d regret ruining, were you to rip it off him in the way you truly want to. in the way he likes. in the way that makes him emit those sweet, sharp sounds underneath you.
the click of the lock drags your hungry gaze from your phone screen to the door. you leave your legs propped up on the couch cushions, dragging a hand through your hair.
seonghwa already looks a bit disheveled as he comes through the door, his hair tousled and breaths deep enough to betray the speed at which he hurried here.
“hello, my love,” his greeting is warm.
“hey, you.”
his shoes are off in an instant. as he approaches, the jacket slides off his shoulders and is cast on the bed like a layer he couldn’t wait to shed.
you sit up in amusement, placing your feet on the floor and patting the spot beside you.
seonghwa sinks down readily, quick to accept the kiss you offer. your lipstick leaves a red smudge on his mouth. you want to leave more.
for now, you card your fingers through his hair, taming the part. “dinner’s over already?”
the bashful look he gives his knees is quite telling. “sort of.”
“oh.” a slow smile spreads over your face. the hand in his hair smooths down to his nape. your voice drops to an octave that coaxes a shiver up his spine. “you were impatient.”
it’s a statement, not a question, but he nods to affirm it anyway, leaning into your touch.
you glance him over for a moment, drinking in the way his palms are pressed into his knees, which are angled towards you on the couch. and oh, those eyes. shining and begging. slowly lifting to find yours.
your nails gently graze over his skin, down the uppermost part of his spine and then back into his hair. you can practically see the groan rise up his throat. his lashes flutter.
just because he came right to you, because he’s worked so hard this year, because he won an award and he deserves to be celebrated, you don’t make him wait like you usually do.
without saying anything, you bend one knee up over his lap and extend your calf over his thighs. he knows what to do.
his eyes light up. almost immediately, hands rush to help pull your shoe farther onto his lap. he works gently to undo the clasp, then cradles your ankle in one palm while the other separates the heel from your foot.
you recline as his fingers skim down the length of your slacks to lift the other shoe. normally you wouldn’t have even worn the heels this late after the show, but the performance at hand is just little thing that he likes, and you’re happy to indulge him.
like everything he does, the way he sets your shoes onto the floor is full of careful intention. you half-consider rolling your ankle between his thighs and teasing him from where you rest on your elbows, but then you remember the little bows.
“thank you, baby.” the relief in your voice is genuine.
you take his chin in one hand as you rise to your feet, laying a kiss on his cheek. your other hand slips into your pocket and withdraws the rumpled set of ribbons, rolling the fibers between your thumb and forefinger at your side.
when he catches sight of the motion, his ears grow pink. he looks up at you with lips slightly parted.
“can you undo the first few buttons of your shirt for me?” you tilt your head.
without taking his eyes off yours, he fulfills the request, albeit with fumbling fingers.
“mmh,” you smile softly. “you’re being so good tonight.”
the praise sets off something that sears behind his eyes. his brows flicker closer together for an instant.
you nudge his knees apart and step between them, unfurling the handful of lace and satin and silk. allowing him to watch, you select a wider ribbon from the bunch, sliding it free with a slowness that he tracks with a heated gaze. the other ribbons are deposited to the side for now.
“oh, how cute,” you comment, reaching out to peel one side of his shirt away from his chest. “the kiss mark is still there. it didn’t stain your shirt, did it?”
as you lift the fabric further, some red lifts away along with it. seonghwa’s voice is nonexistent when he tries to speak, so he clears his throat to try again.
“i-it’s alright. i’ll wash it later.”
your touch lingers around the mark, tracing his collarbone above it, and a slow smirk spreads over your lips as you watch goosebumps rise on that side of his body.
“sensitive…?” you murmur.
his throat bobs in a swallow.
oh, he’s in the palm of your hand now.
you lift your fingers to his chin and tilt it back, then take the length of ribbon and pull it taught between both hands.
“i think i want to put this here,” you ponder aloud, slowly pressing the strip of fabric to his skin. “would that be okay, angel?”
his hands find the edges of the couch cushion and curl over the seams. the yes that he musters up is just a whisper.
his jaw tightens as you slip the silky material around the back of his neck, and you guide it up, then lower, settling on a spot just beneath his adam’s apple. with deliberate slowness, you secure the fabric in one knot and two perfect loops, eyes gleaming as his throat quivers beneath the material.
“so pretty,” you murmur for the second time that night.
“thank you,” he croaks.
he’s a mess. the way he’s looking at you, eyes never straying from your face, says everything his mouth doesn’t. you pry the fabric apart, perfecting the bow’s shape, then step back to admire your work.
your arms cross, and your tone sinks—still soft, but now commanding. “i think you need to lose the shirt.”
he shifts in his seat, prying his hands from the cushion beneath him to release the remaining buttons. as the material slides off his shoulders, pooling around him, you hum appreciatively. your eyes gradually drop to the strain of fabric growing between his thighs. he has always liked to be admired, but especially the way you do it.
you had intended to prolong the tying—to put the flimsier ribbons elsewhere, maybe on his wrists or in his hair. but as he sits before you, decorated with one wide stripe of fabric on his slender throat, you doubt he could look any prettier than he does right now.
he sees the shift in your expression. he’s holding his breath before you even step closer, before your fingers slip underneath the base of the bow, before you lean down to ghost the words against his ear.
“you should be very proud of yourself, seonghwa. you did so well this year. so well tonight.”
he can’t help it. he whimpers. your fingers give a little tug, persuading to the edge of the seat by the tie on his neck. he obeys immediately, hanging on your every word.
“can you tell me what you are?”
he swallows hard before whispering, “i’m your—i’m your good boy.”
“aand..?”
“your—your pretty boy…”
the praise floods into your tone. “mhm. that’s right. my sweet, pretty boy.”
he chokes, though you haven’t yet pulled the ribbon again. you place a warm kiss below his ear, and then another a bit lower, continuing south until you’re satisfied with the quake in his breath as he exhales.
gradually, you lift yourself back up to loom over him, smirking a little at how he’s shivering on the edge of his seat.
“go ahead,” you murmur, releasing the bow from your curled fingers. you jerk your head towards the bed.
he doesn’t need convincing. in a moment, he is hurrying obediently to the mattress. he sucks in a breath as he collapses onto the edge of the duvet, the color finally creeping up his neck at the sound of your pants hitting the floor.
you climb over his hips, easily unfastening the belt still notched there, but then your hands smooth up his torso, leaving little gasps to catch in his throat as they wander.
“would you be more comfortable against the pillows?” you ask, grabbing hold of the loose ends of the bow.
“i—i’m okay, it’s okay,” he breathes, watching helplessly as your bare thighs surround his hips.
when you settle yourself over his aching erection, he has to bite hard on his lip to refrain from making a sound.
you give a teasing pull on the ribbon around his neck, and his gaze flicks up to yours from where it has been agonizing over the black lace now pressing firm against his crotch.
“wh-hmm?” he asks, chest rising and falling a bit faster.
you smile, reaching to brush the hair from his eyes as you roll your hips. “i didn’t say anything, baby.”
the pressure of your motion drags a quiet, strangled noise from his throat. “f-fuck.”
“poor baby,” you hum, pressing one hand down in front of your hips, grinding gently against the bulge under your palm. “so sensitive…”
he’s trembling. when he starts to plea, you give the ribbon another small tug.
“p-please,” he gasps. “don’t tease me…”
beneath you, his knees widen, slotting your hips into his a bit more.
“you want these off?” you nod, grazing the zipper with your finger.
he nods along. “yes. y-yes. please.”
“yeah?” you continue to move your head up and down, watching his eyes glaze over as you drag apart the zipper.
if it were another night, you might have pushed him to the point of pathetic begging. waited until you watched the tears form in his eyes. but he’s been so good.
“take them off,” you instruct, lifting yourself up off his lap. he struggles to wriggle down his clothes, soft little sounds pinching out of his lungs as he shifts around, trying not to touch his throbbing cock.
he sinks onto his back with a shaky sigh when it’s finally in your hands. his pants are only at his knees, bundled up with his briefs, but that’s alright for now.
the tears spring to his eyes anyway as you stroke him nice and slow, giving him a sliver of relief from the tension.
“you poor thing,” you coo. “waiting all night to be tied up like a present… to be touched…”
he squeezes his eyes shut and whines, his hips lifting slightly beneath your own.
you click your tongue, gently pushing him down. “just relax. i’ll take care of you, angel.”
he nods, eyes still closed, brows close together.
“but just one thing.” you say softly, holding your palm over his chest. the opposite hand gives a little tug on the bow. “sit up, and spit.”
he complies, shifting onto his elbows. when the slickness of his saliva hits your skin, you drop it to his lap and curl your fingers around his stiff cock once again. as the slow, torturous strokes resume, he has to avert his eyes. he groans and lets his head fall back, an action which spurs another gentle tug of the ribbon.
“you can relax, but i want you to watch,” you relay calmly, relishing how hot his face gets at the sight of your fingers squeezing and spreading pleasure down his length.
you swirl your thumb over the tip, spreading around the bead of moisture indicating his arousal. his lips compress into a round shape, and then part in a gasp, his hips jolting.
from here, you start to pick up the pace, slotting your fist up and down in quick yet gentle passes.
“please,” he starts to murmur, almost mindlessly. “oh, mmh, fuck, please…”
“good boy,” you encourage. “feels good?”
“yes,” he almost sobs, thighs clenching.
when your wrist speeds up, he all but arches off the mattress, crying out sweetly.
“oh—oh, god, pleaseplease, i-i need—i need your…”
“a little more,” you murmur. “you can take a little more, right?”
he whines, but nods.
he’s on his best behavior. oh, you’ll treat him so well.
your hand glides off of him in one final motion, letting his aching length fall between his thighs, where it twitches helplessly. you lift your hips and begin to remove the buttons on your blouse. “lay back against the pillows, angel.”
with static for brain, he crawls backwards, squirming out of the last of his clothes. against the headboard, he wears just that singular black bow on his body now. combined with his flustered demeanor, you think you might eat him alive.
“oh, honey,” you soothe, fingernails tracing his knees as you follow him to the incline of pillows. the touch seems to send sparks up his spine. “you’re shaking.”
the kiss you place on his knee makes his body twitch. he lets out a soft, strangled noise.
“how many times can i kiss you before the lipstick wears off completely…?” you wonder aloud. and then you start to populate the middle of his thighs with red smudges, and you don’t stop until he’s panting.
“wait, please,” he mumbles weakly, fingers curling into the sheets. the plea comes just as you’re kissing the place where his hip meets his thigh. he’s trembling.
“what is it, angel?”
he swallows. “i don’t think i can… i don’t think i want…” as he struggles for words, his shaky fingers find your body, pulling you up from over his lower half.
“mmmnn,” you sympathize. “you don’t want my mouth.” as you say it, your are sliding off the last of your clothes.
he nods, then shakes his head, breathing unevenly. “yeah, i—no, please don’t—just not right now, please, i want…”
“hm?” you encourage, settling over his legs, which are now covered in lipstick. the sight seems to make him dizzy. he never looks for long.
“i—can i be inside you?” he chokes out.
you wrap the bow around your fingers two times over. “say please.”
the air leaves his lungs in a shaky puff as he feels your hips shift closer. “fuck. please. please, can i be inside you?”
drawing yourself closer, you lean down and let your words warm his mouth. “you can have whatever you want, seonghwa. you deserve it all.”
his breath is whimper-adjacent, but not quite there. only when you reach down to slot his cock against your heat does he let out a strangled sort of noise, a sound that draws into a pleading note as you bob your hips.
“can i—can i touch you?” it’s like he can’t get the words out fast enough, fingers lifting to your thighs, curling uselessly in the air.
“yes, baby.”
the confirmation is followed by a tight grip on your waist. it’s as if he is holding on tight rather than guiding you, but you still sink onto him the way you know he aches for as soon as his palms press to your skin.
his head falls back in a slew of quiet cries. he gasps when your hips roll, taking him deeper, and you focus on clenching just right.
his eyes are glossy when they finally open.
“oh my god.”
“you’re so needy tonight,” you murmur, trailing a finger over his lower belly.
he responds with an uneven whimper.
“you usually don’t beg for this so easily.” as you speak, you start to ride his hips with unhurried fervency. he struggles to focus on your words.
“st-star,” he chokes out. “m-mmh, fuck…”
the nickname, spoken in that depraved tone, makes your stomach constrict pleasantly. your own voice takes on a darker quality. “whose cock is this?”
“yours,” he mewls.
“that’s right.”
you reward him with a sudden swing of your hips, shoving him deeper. his head falls back, body arching, but you pull on the ribbon wound tight in your fingers.
“ngh—!”
his noise brings a wicked grin to your lips. you click your tongue, then offer a simple demand. “watch.”
he blinks the dizziness away, focusing on where your hips meet with a flustered sort of expression. you begin to thrust more quickly, pleased by the way his face seems to heat up even more.
“star,” he whimpers, his fingers flexing uselessly as they glide down your hips.
you keep the tension on the ribbon, but your other hand takes one of his and slides it over your breast. when the brush of his fingers makes your body tighten on him, he seems to melt, his red-kissed thighs squirming. but he stays where you want him.
“good boy,” you hum approval, slotting your hips in smaller but quicker thrusts.
this seems to nearly completely undo him. tears spring to his eyes as you ease your hips back, tilting in such a way as to squeeze the entirety of his cock. when your walls flutter, so do his soft cries.
“tell me again. what are you?” you tilt your head, suppressing a smile as his noises grow louder.
“i’m your good boy, i’m your good boy—“ he whimpers it like a mantra, his stomach clenching as he struggles to sit still. when you pick up the pace, the words scramble on his tongue. “i’m your g-hhn, gh—ngh—ah—!”
“my good boy,” you nod, both hands on his waist now, holding him in place as you fuck him in that torturous way that has him arching off the mattress. “you want some more?”
“more, mm-hmm, please,” he nods desperately. but he’s not quite ready for the harsher thrusts. he chokes on a moan.
he feels fucking incredible. with each roll of your hips, you can feel your own pleasure intensify. his cock, flushed and slick, throbs as your thumbs put gentle pressure on his abdomen. you fuck him faster.
he all but writhes. “oh my god—baby, s-slow down, or i’m gonna—”
“oh, you’re gonna come for me?” you smirk, not slowing in the slightest. if anything, your hips lift less but slam harder, punching the breath from his lungs.
a pretty tear squeezes from his eyes as he cries out towards the ceiling. “oh, oh, ngh—a-ah!”
“you know what i want from you?” you pant. “i want you to feel good, baby. can you come for me?”
he sobs softly, his hips pushing up off the sheets. his fingers are shaking.
you relent briefly, but only to allow him to suck in a breath before you crash down over him again. his yell is of pure feeling, a step below bliss, and he’s squirming now, but your thighs have him trapped right where he needs to be.
“god, you feel so good, seonghwa,” you groan, canting your hips at a steady pace, almost bruising. “if you keep making those pretty noises, i might come for you.”
“oh, please,” he exhales, completely flushed, his chest heaving. “please, baby, oh, i need to feel it—ngh…”
“you know how,” you whisper.
he sucks in a shaky breath like he’s going to cry, but readily slips his fingers to rub his trembling thumb against your clit, watching with watering eyes as you slow down to a steady saunter overtop him.
“that’s it,” you breathe, collecting a handful of his hair. the bow wilts against his slender throat
he whimpers, being sure to keep the pad of his thumb in direct pace with your hips.
“that’s it,” you sigh, watching his lips part. “touching it so nice… taking it so good… filling me so well…”
he’s melting into a puddle, his face burning bright, but he nods along like a lovesick puppy.
you continue, “and you deserve to feel good, baby. so good. who’s my good boy?”
“me,” he croaks.
“uh-huhh. louder. tell me again.”
his breath catches as you start to move quicker again, grinding against his thumb. “i-i’m your good, sweet b-boy.”
“and you’re going to come?”
his brows knit as he nods frantically, his touch slipping a bit. “y-yes, baby. oh, please.”
“good.” your fingers clamp together, pulling his hair. his hips thrust up as he cries out. you take it as a sign to start bouncing on his lap, wrenching sticky noises from between the two of you as he struggles to maintain any semblance of composure.
your hands fly to the bow, quickly jerking it free just to tighten the original knot, which makes him gasp. you pull, taking care to not let it shrink too tight—but the effect is immediate. he’s sobbing as his hips stutter. you know the sounds he’s making all too well.
it sends you over the edge before you can regrasp the ribbon, and the clenching of your orgasm makes his pupils dilate.
one last whimper seeps from clenched teeth before his eyes are shut tight and his body is arching off the bed for the final time. he was already going to come, but your own body’s reaction has plucked a particularly rapturous chord. your peak of pleasure is always his undoing.
“fuck yes,” you seethe, nasty thoughts flowing from your mouth. “give it to me. let my pussy drink it.”
and as your hips roll downwards in one last forceful shove, his fingers fly to your thighs to hold on, his whole body contracting.
a shattered cry erupts from seonghwa’s mouth. your name is on the next syllable, but the rest falls into mindless rambling as sobs rack his chest.
you watch it wash over him in hungry awe, the pleasure contorting his features beautifully. when it’s over, he’s so weak that his whimpers are just breaths.
“shhh,” you soothe, immediately dropping to kiss away the lingering tears. your grip on his hair turns to gentle caressing as you ride out the rest of his pleasure, grinding into him in time with the aftershocks that make him shiver.
he lifts his palms to still your hips, and a wrecked sort of moan coats his voice. “holy fuck…”
you smile softly and place a kiss on his swollen lips. then, without pulling away, you whisper, “i love you.”
he musters a shaky whine, a sound that barely carries above his breath.
“you okay?” you lift yourself up, being sure to keep your hips still.
he nods, his eyes fluttering shut.
like this, he’s perfect. that pretty flush accompanies his satisfied state like a sleepy glow. you push your fingers through his hair, admiring him from above.
eventually, his eyes crack open. he sighs deeply, contentedly.
“let’s clean up,” he mumbles, sitting up with surprising ease, one arm sliding under your ass.
you are taken aback as he swings his legs to the edge of the bed and hauls you up with him, that sleepy satisfaction on his face morphing into a soft smirk.
he walks slow, taking his time as he carries you to the open shower door, not even bothering with the lights.
you sigh as the glass slides shut, shifting your thighs to hug his waist a bit better. “haven’t had enough?”
his mouth finds yours as the facet squeaks to life.
“not even close,” he breathes against your tongue, grinding into your hips.
your back hits the tile, a convenient place for him to prop you. his cock twitches, already growing hard again from where he’s still buried inside.
“now… have you ever been fucked by an honorary artist of the year?”
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
