#stargirlultra

[stargirlultra]

WHITAKER X FEM!NEIGHBOR!READER

★ANALYSIS! You ask your friend and neighbor to come over before a date and approve of your clothes. Unfortunately for Whitaker, this includes the underwear you'll be in, as well.

★CW! perv!whitaker, masturbation (m), panty fetish, mentions of: oral (f), doggy style, overstimulation, big dick!whitaker; nothing too unusual honestly

Dennis might've been the unluckiest man alive. He had no excuse to bail on you when you called and asked for him to be present while you tried on some new clothes. He should've known that you wouldn't just be putting on some snug jeans or a cropped muscle tee that showed your progress in the gym. He should've told you Santos needed him to do something in the apartment and told you to call another time.

But he was here, in your apartment, watching you spin in a circle for him. He wanted to look away, to give you privacy, but the last time he did that, you fussed at him.

You were on your second underwear set and he really wanted—needed—to go back into his apartment. He was incredibly uncomfortable. He tried not to look at your perky ass or how perfectly tight the rosy panties were on it. He caught a glimpse of the little bow on the front, but he knew looking any longer would just lead to him thinking about your....

The bra wasn't any better; it might've been worse, actually. It was almost plain. There were flower patterns in it that were just nearly the same color as the bra. Another small bow was smack dab in the middle. If he looked at that one too long, he caught the unfortunately wonderful sight of your side-boob. He would be lying if he told himself that he never thought about everything that he could do with your breasts.

You spun around again. "Do you think it's cute?"

He huffed. What could he say that could get him out of this nightmare situation the quickest and flatter you?

"It...it fits you well," he stammered.

"Thanks, but that doesn't answer the question," you said. "Do you, as a guy that likes girls, think I look good in this set? Yes or no, c'mon."

He drew his eyes to the floor. "I just feel like this isn't something I should be doing."

"Why? 'Cause we're not fucking?"

He looked up at you, frowning. He was never entirely sure if you were going with him or if he was just too big of a pussy to be direct. You were staring at him blankly, waiting for his answer. He thought he saw you narrowing your eyes at him.

"I don't think your date will be comfortable knowing you asked me to...to see you like this."

"Wasn't planning on telling him." You shrugged. Then you grinned and that mischievousness was clear as day in your pretty eyes. Dennis shifted in his seat "Why? You want him to know you saw all of me first? That you got a sneak peak?"

His heart skipped a beat and his eyes blew wide. He almost shouted in denial but the idea of ruining another man's experience with you was...exciting. An even better thought popped in his head.

Why did any other man have to see you like this at all? Then that thought evolved, too. You wanted to tease something out of him? Fine. He would ruin that man's experience with you.

He clenched his jaw, ignoring the voice telling him how insane what he was about to say truly was. "When is your date?"

Your smile fell and you tilted your head at him. "In a couple of hours. Why?"

"Can you give me your underwear?"

You blinked at him, looked down at your panties, then back at him.

"What?" You scoffed softly.

Dennis swallowed hard, nervous. No backing out now. "I want your underwear. Can you give it to me? I'll give it back, I promise."

You stared at him blankly again before turning and retreating into your bathroom. Dennis's heart was racing, beating against his chest like a thousand drums. What the fuck did he just say? You both knew that wasn't normal for him, how could he just say that out in the open! His mind was racing a million miles a second. Your weird little friendship that he sort of cherished was over thanks to him. Good job, Whitaker.

You came out of the bathroom in your lounge clothes from before and the underwear set on your hands. Dennis shot up starting to apologize when you opened his palm and placed the rosy panties in his hand.

His mouth fell open and he just stared at it. Then, he looked back at you. You look a lot less confident than usual, barely looking him in the eyes.

You cleared your throat, talking rather softly. "Bring it back an hour before I leave, please."

Dennis rushed to his bedroom quicker than he'd ever imagined he could. Santos didn't even get a word in before he closed and locked the door to stare fully at the delicate, rosy piece of cloth. The cloth that had just been right over your lovely cunt.

He ran his fingers over the material, across the lace lining, on the little bow at the front. Perhaps if you two were even the slightest bit more... familiar...he would be sliding his cock inside of you with the panties pushed to the side. He would never want to disregard them like they were nothing. You were I'm it and he would want you in it.

The little fantasy made his already aching dick hurt more. Would it be shameful to honestly do what he planned to do? Well, if she was grossed out, she wouldn't have given him these, would she?

Maybe he just didn't care.

He fell back on his bed and lightly pressed your freshly worn panties to his nose. He groaned pathetically. He needed to get closer to you so that he could eat you out with these on.

Then again, what he was doing now wasn't because you two were close.

He pulled out his dick, an almost relieved sigh escaping his small pink mouth, and started teasing it, as if it were you playing with him. He grazed his own fingers over his own penis, a chilling jolt moving up his spine.

He put the panties in his mouth, rolling his eyes back, and began to fully stroke himself. He thought about you, pleasuring you. He thought about sticking his face in between your full thighs and licking your arousal through your cute little panties. The fantasy morphed from him holding you down as he went down on you to him completely engulfed by your thighs while you sat on his face, suffocating him so wonderfully while toying with his hair.

He groaned and whined into the panties. He could feel them becoming soaked with his saliva, half of the joy of the fantasy seeping into his blood. Perhaps if you had worn them a little longer—perhaps if you had fingered yourself in them—he would be able to taste you and that would be three-quarters of the full fantasy. He could live with that if he never got to eat you out. The remnants of you on his tongue, ghosting over it like the tease you were, would be enough to satisfy him.

Then the fantasy changed. He thought about bending you over your kitchen table or the counter or the arm of your couch. Of pulling your panties to the side and fully fucking you.

Chuckling to himself, Dennis pulled the panties from his mouth. He sat up, panting like a puppy, his tongue threatening to fall past his lips, and lifted his shirt to put the bottom in between his teeth. He unfurled the panties and wrapped them around his hard, leaking dick.

He fantasized about how you'd react to his penis. He knew he was big—he'd had sex before, after all—and he could only imagine the reactions you'd have to the size of him. How easy would it be for him to fuck you silly, to have you drooling, to sloppily try to keep up a good kiss for him as he leans over from behind?

He stroked himself faster and faster, wetting his shirt now with his spit as he moaned and whined into it. He never took his eyes off of the panties rubbing over his big cock.

He knew you would gag on it. He knew that the size of it would bring tears to your eyes, that when he came on you, his cum would spurt all over your face and your perfect tits while you let your tongue out for a taste of him and—

"Oh, fuck!"

Dennis fell back and rutted into his palm, into the panties that were soaking up his semen until he felt it. He rolled over, stuffed his face into the bedsheets, ran the underwear over the head of his cock, and came right into them. He could feel his warm cum seeping into the fabric, soaking it further the longer his dizzying orgasm went on.

When he was done, he rolled back onto his back and looked at the material. It was ruined, all right. There wasn't a spot not covered by cum and spit. He had cum so much, it was running down his arm.

He laughed at the absurdity of what he'd just done. What would come from what he wanted you to do with the soiled pair of panties.

But he wasn't done yet. He wrapped the fabric around his dick again. He couldn't just stop after just one brief fap.

If he stopped now, you might be too absorbed with your date to remember that Dennis's semen was rubbing right up against you!

It was only necessary to go again and again and again and again.

[stargirlultra]

Dennis "putting your hands behind your back to put you in your place, even when he whines and whimpers like a bottom" Whitaker

we need more of this.. like this? is amazing. when would he even do that whitaker seems like such a nice guy.

and he definitely is an incredibly nice person! he's so sweet, so attentive, so considerate. he offers to do things he knows you don't like doing without you even asking, making you food, and praising you for everything you do, even when you think you did super bad.

and that somewhat translates to his time in the bedroom with you. he kisses you and whispers sweet nothings while even though he's got your arms tied up. of course, it's for your benefit! how will he give you the best orgasm of your life if you don't give him complete control?

He dips his fingers into you, touching you with the intention of making you orgasm in a way you would talk to—brag to—your friends about. He'd dip down and put you in his mouth, going down on you like it was a mission that he needed to excel at. And with you restrained in some way, he could do everything he wanted, needed.

He'd toss you onto your stomach, gripping your hands behind you back and fucking you prone the best he could. His face would be at your shoulder and he'd whimper out praises and say dirty things he'd never be caught dead saying outside of the bedroom, away from you.

He's definitely one of those soft doms who gets nervous about basic sex talk in public!!!

[stargirlultra]

OMEGA!WHITAKER X FEM!ALPHA!READER

★ANALYSIS! he's so fucking into you it's highkey driving him crazy and turning into a pervert freak loser dork <3

★CW! futanari I think, masturbation (m), omegaverse kinda, fleshlight, mentions of choking, frotting, edging, finger sucking, kinda cuckolding, switch!whitaker, light omega!sub!langdon x reader

★AUTHOR! I did very light research on the omegaverse for this; also this is a part one! Also, I think it's becoming obvious that I have a fetish for masturbation...whoopsie

You might actually be the most wonderful woman he'd ever met. From the shape of your body to the natural inflection of your voice, you were mesmerizing, an infection he enjoyed undergoing.

You were dedicated to your work as a nurse, an ambition he admired. Whenever he'd see someone trying to talk to you about your life, you always surprised him with your quick and vague responses. It intrigued him. What was your life like outside of the Pitt? What did you do? What didn't you like?

He tried not to speculate about your relationships but learning about your title as an Alpha worsened his deep curiosity. Did you have an Omega? Did he know your Omega? Was your Omega male or female? Those uncontrollable thoughts frustrated him deeply.

They also brought shame. The longer he found himself thinking about you and the possibility of your hypothetical Omegas, the closer those thoughts became fantasies. And it was worse when he was going through his heat. So, so much worse.

He would fantasize about you and an Omega he knew—usually Langdon—and the way you would put him in his place. He'd stick his hands down his pants at the thought of you teasing Langdon by getting off in front of him, restraining him and keeping him on the edge while you got off again and again and again.

His fantasies were influenced by seeing you at work with the other Alphas, how you were so domineering and in control, how everyone listened to you and followed anything you said or did.

He knew you were in charge in the bedroom. He knew you would edge him to tears, teasing his dick so much that it was spoiled by and messy from all of the precum he would spill. He knew you would hurt and bruise him, bite and slap and choke him into nothing but your breeding toy. He found himself running off to the bathroom to rut messily into his hand or the bottom half of your scrubs that you asked him to put away for you.

There was a week where you barely talked to him that almost flipped a switch. He had to watch you lead the other nurses, guide an intern too eager to be near you, and (worst of all) talk with Langdon again and again. Didn't he have a wife? Ever since he returned from rehab, you two were basically best friends.

It made him sick. It made him angry.

One night after a long shift, a couple of the day shift went out for drinks, you and Whitaker included. He watched you take your voluminous hair out of the tight bun you had.

It was an excruciating moment, watching your hair fall against your shoulders and frame your face. You were so beautiful, a walking piece of artwork he was blessed to see almost every day. He'd never seen you like this though, and he nearly keeled over and kissed your feet.

When everyone was leaving, you forgot your scrunchie. You'd put it on the table and when you left, the scrunchie stayed in front of him. He was lucky; Santos and Javadi were lightly bickering about something, and Dana and McKay were getting more drinks.

It was easy to snatch it and put it in his pocket. It was harmless! If anyone asked why he had your scrunchie, he was prepared to tell them that he was holding it for you. That wasn't a lie. He was intending on returning it.

He was intending on returning it.

Whenever he came home, suffering from a heavy wave of his heat, Whitaker would wrap the scrunchie around the length of his dick and stroke himself until it hurt to cum. At some point he bought a fleshlight (he made sure it was the exact same shade of your skin as he could manage) and he'd fuck that almost every night.

He'd stuff his dick into the fake pussy, the scrunchie tight on his big cock, and spend so long fucking it full of his cum. He'd think about you, fantasize about what he wanted to do to you.

He wanted to choke you the way he knew you would choke him. He wanted to be above you with your fingers in his mouth while he rapidly humped the crevice of your big tits, dripping cum on your face.

He wanted to tie you up and hump and hump and hump. He wanted to put his dick right against your pussy and rub it against your slick cunt. He wanted to spend all of his late nights and early mornings frotting against your dick. He wanted to squeeze your thighs together, hold his ruined fleshlight on the other side, and fuck it while he fucked your thighs. He knew that would give him one of the greatest orgasms of his life.

He liked to pretend the fleshlight was you, talking to it and treating it as delicately as he could (it's a fuckin fleshlight). He was cum in it over and over in one night, bring it up to his mouth, and clean it out like it was your cunt. He would delve his tongue into it, letting his semen slide into his mouth all the while fapping with the now ruined scrunchie on the base of his cum-covered cock. He let his cum slide past the corner of his lips, over his face and staining his cheeks.

He'd liked to lay on his stomach, fleshlight in his hands and scrunchie on his dick, and imagine fucking you prone, rough and hard. His room would be overcome with the sound of him whining and losing his voice, the obnoxious squelch of the cum filled toy taking his dick, and him babbling to it like it were you underneath him.

At some point, Whitaker has completely ruined the toy and the scrunchie was far too spoiled with his seed to be returned.

Lucky for him, you had started wearing another one to work. Unfortunately, you noticed the light smell of your scent on him quickly after your scrunchie went missing.

Interesting........

[stargirlultra]

DENNIS WHITAKER X FEM PRESENTING!READER

★ANALYSIS! Maybe he's bored, maybe he's lonely, maybe he just needs something to look forward to outside of work. When he overhears you talking a little bit intimately in the rec room with someone you're seeing, it's like his mind latches onto the thrill of possibilities that came with that tidbit of information. He'd never considered you a sexual being, and clearly there was a good reason for that.

★CW! masturbation, mention of oral sex, doggy style, pronebone, pillow humping, drooling, public masturbation, queer!reader, fingering, mention of public sex, mention of orgasms

★AUTHOR! masturbation part III RAAAAAH!! also sorry I'm not super active or anything I'm too nervous to start putting other fandoms on here and I'm running out of ideas for Dennis and The Pitt.

He’d never considered you a sexual being.

To Dennis Whitaker, you were a dedicated worker bee who he’d always heard speaking about work and only work. You were kind of like those teachers he used to believe didn’t do anything outside of the school walls. He wouldn’t have been surprised if you disappeared when your shift was over and reappeared outside of the hospital building when you had to clock in.

That changed one day when he saw you on the phone with someone while staring at the rec room’s vending machine. He’d come into the room and froze a few steps into the room.

You didn’t notice him, you were too absorbed with your companion over the phone. He stood there awkwardly, struggling to decide whether he should leave the room or make sure you knew he was in the room with you. He’d turned on his heels, deciding to leave—

“So, what, you wanna skip the date and go straight to hooking up?”

He stilled. The day was so hectic, a surplus of victims from a collision on the road had put him at the very edge an hour before, he’d almost forgotten the things normal people did.

Whitaker glanced at you. You were going on a date after your shift? You were beautiful, undeniably, but he’d never considered you someone who did anything like that.

His mind began to fill with speculative thoughts.

Did you go on dates often? Is the person you were on the phone with a person you usually went on dates with? Did you ever go on dates with anyone from the hospital? Did you have sex with your dates or did you prolong it for as long as you could manage? Have you ever had sex with anyone in the hospital, like Santos with Garcia?

Would you, if you got the opportunity?

He shook the thought from his mind just as you responded to the person you were calling. “You’ll have to take me out to a nice little dinner if you maybe want to see me in your bed.”

His heart raced and the fantastical image of you in a fancy little outfit, ruined mid-fuck. He pushed it away just as fast as it came. He had shit to do and what he was thinking about was horrendously childish of him. Was he 15?

He left the rec room as quickly as he could before you could see him.

The mystery of your life outside of the Pitt—more specifically, your romantic and sexual life—nestled itself into Whitaker’s mind for weeks. He could be in the midst of doing his charts and your figure would rush past him, standing beside a patient’s gurney, the speculation and wonder of your intimate life distracting him until Dana or Santos or Robby pulled him out of his own head.

It was an embarrassing and uncontrollable issue.

There was a time where you called for him to come help you with a patient. He was distracted the entire time, watching you work and command everyone else to specific things. It was made worse when he got so distracted that he dropped a utensil.

“I-I’m so sorry!” Whitaker dropped to the floor to pick up the scalpel. Before he could do anything, you took it from him as he popped back up.

“I’ve got it, Huckleberry,” you’d said in a quick, flat tone, “make sure her breathing is stable.”

His face burned. He’d seen you just about every day for most of the day; he’d gone a whole year without being flustered and consumed with the thoughts of you. What was the problem now? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about you putting your mystery date onto their knees?

“I can do it,” he’d said. His voice was shaking, coated with embarrassment. God, did he wake up with the mind of a 13 year old boy or something?

You stopped, only for a second. His heart skipped a beat and the fantasy ghosted back towards the front of his mind. Your eyes were round, calculated, not a hint of anything but the pursuit of the objective goal swimming in the pools around your pupils.

“I know you can,” you’d said in an intoxicatingly low voice. “But not right now. Understand?”

It was probably the most embarrassing moment of his career in the Pitt. He’d clocked out thinking about that, from the moment you called for him to come with you to the half a second you stared directly into his eyes. You were a mind-altering disease, he’d come to realize, and his life was being ruined by the mystery that was you.

It was so humiliating (in his head, at least) that he’d asked both Dana and Robby and even McKay to replace him if you ever called for him to work with you. It took a bit of vague convincing but they agreed.

It got worse after two full weeks of him avoiding even being in the same room with you. His thoughts hadn’t reached full on debaucherous perversions. It had gone as far as imagining you kissing and touching a mystery man’s body, running your fingers over his torso and kissing his chest. It was pathetic and weird, he knew that, but nothing to be entirely ashamed about.

Until you pulled him into the rec room—the silent, empty rec room—and trapped him inside by standing in front of the door. You folded your arms over your chest and stared at him with narrowed eyes for so long it put him into a mental spiral.

Did you know he overheard you talking about hooking up with your date? Did you know the things he thought about you? He knew you couldn’t read his mind but he was certain it was obvious on his face.

Finally, you spoke and broke the uncomfortable silence. “Do you have a problem with me, Whitaker?”

“What?”

“Do you have a problem with me?” you repeated slowly. “You can tell me and we can talk about it, but only for a moment, so spit it out.”

He shook his head immediately. “No! No, I don’t have any problem with you. We don’t even talk that much, why would,” he chuckled nervously, “why would there be any problems between us?”

“See, that’s the issue. We don’t talk that much anymore.” You leaned on the door, your face falling a little bit. The look of the worker bee was starting to slide away.

“I…I just…,” he didn’t know how to explain himself, he barely knew how to explain to Robby why his charts were never his main focus!

“Did I do something?” you asked with a frown.

Whitaker blinked. “No, I promise, I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“Then why are you avoiding me? Every time I ask for you to come help a patient, I expect you to be behind me and instead I find Mel or just someone else. Are you asking other people to fill in for you when you have to work with me?”

He stammered like an idiot. His eyes roamed all over the room, from the tables to the walls to the crumbs on the smooth white floor. Every possible scenario was running through his head at the speed of light. Anything to—

“See!”

“What!?”

You held out your hand at him, accusatory. “You’re avoiding admitting whatever it is that’s your problem with me! You can’t even look at me!”

Dennis ran his hands over his face, shaking breaths leaving his lips. What could he do that wouldn’t ruin his already weakening relationship with you? But he couldn’t admit that he speculated about your intimate life, that was far too peverted of him.

Either way he’d lose your friendship, even if it wasn’t that strong to begin with.

He sighed and sat at one of the round tables, putting his face in his hands. His entire body was hot with embarrassment. “I…I over…overheard…”

“What? Speak up. Please, Dennis.” A chill ran up his back at your words.

“I…overheard you,” he muttered a little bit louder. “When you were talking on the phone a couple of weeks ago, I heard you. I heard you talking to your date and it just…I got kind of embarrassed. I didn’t know how to approach you.”

You stared at him for a moment then broke out into laughter. He looked up at you from behind his hands, eyes wide. Were you laughing at him? His body grew hotter and he was beginning to grow irritated.

When you stopped laughing, you sat in the seat right across from him. “I’m so sorry, Whitaker, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have been talking about stuff like that in public.”

Huh? You hadn’t said much all those weeks ago. He wasn’t a prude or anything, it was just a couple of sentences.

“No, it’s fine. I should’ve just minded my business, or at least let you know I was there while you were calling,” he said hurriedly.

“No, it’s really not fine. I shouldn’t have been talking about sex positions and kinks where anyone could hear me. It’s inappropriate, it’s unprofessional, and, clearly, it’s bothersome. I’m sorry, seriously.”

He stared at you, dumbfounded. "It...it's...okay."

You left the rec room first and the infection took over almost every part of his mind now.

What positions were you talking about? What kinks were you...so vocal about in the rec room? His mouth was dry, but his mind was filled to the brim with disgusting fantasies.

He thought about you on your knees in front of some man, caressing his bare thighs while you teasingly kissed the base of Mystery Man's dick. That was the first fantasy, and it seemed to last for days, going through different variations.

He fantasized about you either laying on a bed prone or perked up in doggy, your ass on display for whoever would grope and lick and be inside of it.

He couldn't stop thinking about how you'd look full of your Mystery Man's cock, whimpering and moaning and drooling while he plunged his fingers into your mouth. Was it easy to make cum? When you squirted, did you shake?

It was humiliating how much he thought like this. At least he could keep it maintained. Unfortunately, his way of "maintaining" his debaucherous thoughts was less than ideal.

He'd go home with Santos, closing and locking the door to his room, again, the way a teen boy would. He always swallowed down the embarrassment that came with beginning the act, but he couldn't find any other way to solve his problem.

It had helped. He'd spent hours with the end of his shirt bunched up right at his neck. He'd pull off his pants and shovel his shaking hand into his boxers.

It was humiliating how easy it was. His hand gripped the shaft of his cock and massaged it. His thumb pressed and rubbed and moved almost like a machine.

It made him so sensitive. He'd whimper and moan, stuffing the bottom of his shirt in between his teeth so that Santos wouldn't be able to hear him losing his voice as he wiped the excess cum up and down the length of his dick.

When he thought about you and some new mystery man in the Pitt going to a closet to fuck like desperate, eager animals, he'd run off to the bathroom to swirl his fingers around the tip of his cock.

He'd take off his shirt, so as to not get anything from his scrubs in his mouth, and put his undershirt in his teeth, then eagerly stroke his cock rough and fast. And the cries of his orgasm would be muffled while his body shook in the stall, trying not to get caught by the suspiciously shaped Robinavitch shoes that entered the stall beside him.

When the dayshift Pitt crew went out for drinks one night, he'd seen you and some random woman talking. Were you flirting? A disgusting part of him hoped so.

For almost two weeks after that night out, he'd imagined you with a Mystery Woman, her hands reaching up into your shirt to grope your tits and going down into your underwear to touch you and sink into you.

He felt his most disgusting when this phase of fantasies passed through. He didn't even know if you liked women, not to mention his best friend was a lesbian. It felt incredibly disrespectful and every time he let his cock out to fap, he'd get a disgusting taste in his mouth.

But the idea of you experiencing some form of erotic, intimate pleasure had him excited, on edge, every nerve dancing right under the surface of his too-hot skin.

In his fantasies, if you were on your knees, stuffing some Mystery Guy's cock into your mouth or pushing your face in the wet heat of a Mystery Woman's pussy, he'd sit on the floor of his bedroom and masturbate so much his hand would be covered in cum.

If you were riding, he'd lay on his back with his hand around his neck, fingers pressing against his throat while he grinded against the tightness in his boxers.

If you were grinding, he'd do the same against a pillow, spilling loads of cum onto the pillowcases until it ruined the trance that the friction had put him into.

He had no clue how long he would be stuck stroking his dick to you for, but he never seemed to hesitate to do it.

Making himself cum to unending mental images of your pleasure had become an addiction he wasn't looking to cure. Maybe if you took him aside and fucked him in the rec room, that would solve the problem.

Until then, he'd spend most nights touching himself and drooling and cumming in your name.

[stargirlultra]

Two of my favorite European actors 🤤 they are so fine like they're literally perfection I need to eat them so bad.

WHEN I SAY DOUBLE YOU SAY PENETRATION!!!!!

[stargirlultra]

Oh I'm cumming???? I'm gonna cum???? I'm about to cum??? I'm squirting everywhere?????

"I came, I saw, I conquered" but instead it's just "I'm gonna cum, I'm cumming, I came"

[stargirlultra]

CHUGA CHUGA CHUGA CHUGA CHUGA CHOO CHOOOOOO‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

I'm a homie hopper till I DIE!!!!!!!!!

I gotta have the youngest first and the older ones last, then we circle on back to pretty boy Dennis and pathetic loser Hughie as a sweet intimate little quickie at the end.

YOU FEEL ME!!!

[stargirlultra]

i need to take a chunk out of his face fr

WOOF WOOF BARK BARK RAAAAAHHHHH