His hands crumpled the bedsheet underneath him in a fruitless effort to muffle his screams.
His hips shamelessly arched against every thrust.
His lone tear betrayed the pleasure he tried hard to deny he was feeling.
He bit his lips hard enough to draw blood, so he wouldn’t moan or whimper as the person above tortured him slowly and gently.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
This was too much for him.
And when it felt like he would die of being denied, the pleasure building in him felt too cruel.
Torture in a slow gentle way.
Soft lips claimed his rough lips, and a tongue soothed his lower lip he had been biting, distracting him again, and luring him into the game of tongues, which never failed to blow his mind away.
And a chuckle let him know how the person above him knew the effect on
