Dreaming about Promethean Simon… sigh 💔💔
You’re sat in Johnny’s lap, his dick hard and aching in his shorts and pressed against your ass. He holds your legs up and spread, hands under your knees. He never thought he’d be in this position, cock neglected, feeling it pulse just from sniffing your hair and kissing your neck.
“Look at this, mutt.”
Simon calls him to attention, his thick hard cock wet from shlicking against your slit. When he points it against your entrance, it just slides away with a lewd, sticky sound.
“Little pussy’s jus’ too damned wet. Too fuckin’ tight and wet f’me… gotta be deliberate.”
His weighty palm lands against your mound, thumb and forefinger spreading your lips. His free hand holds his cock just beneath the head, groaning as he pushes it in. Johnny can see the flesh give a little in order to pop in past that first barrier of muscle.
“You ever get ‘er this wet, mutt? Or did’ya jus’ pour cold lube on ‘er poor little pussy till you could fit your dumb cock in?”
“Ah got ‘er plenty wet—“ Johnny defends quietly.
“Not this wet, though, ey? Not like having a man who loves ‘er between these thighs,” he nearly coos, leaning to press his forehead to yours, kissing you gently. Your breath hitches at every new inch that presses in. It makes you grind your hips, which has Johnny on the verge of cumming.
“….No,” he admits, “not this wet.”
