There’s Hate Sex And Fuck-the-sadness-out-of-me Type Sex But What About Comfort Sex. Like When Two

making slow passionate love with your f/o on a cold stormy day, safe inside from the chill and wind with only dull light and the heat of your bodies to warm you. on the ground, only the sound of the pouring rain just beyond the walls and greyed windows as they kiss you fiercely, feel you all over, grind on you into the floor... you can't get enough of each other. you only speed up as you both get ready to cum together, but once just isn't enough. by the time you're done, the storm has passed ♡

Can I please massage your boobs? I'll treat them so well, I promise. I'll be gentle. I know they're sensitive. I'll kiss them, maybe I'll pinch your nipples to make them harder, you'll whimper... I'll suck your nipples and you'll put your hands in my head, pushing me lower because we both now I'm just getting started.

voice kink so bad u whimper a little louder and suddenly im trembling n cumming

you know i thought i was being different by drawing medic in this reverse playboy bunny costume, but a friend informed me that people draw old men wearing this all of the time. i can't anything.

Sending this off-anon because at first I accidentally hit the unfollow button in the midst of trying to send this, EMBARRASSED AS HELL

ANYWAY. I don't have anything super concrete to pitch with this, but I've been thinking about Medic's boots lately and I feel like in one regard or another you fired a beam at me. Genuinely thought about grinding down against them and I've been stuck in such a deep flustered fog for the past 40 minutes.

he knows what he's doing. the whore :D

FELLOW HAPPY TRAIL ENTHUSIAST, THOUGHTS ON THE GREY IN THE BURLY BEAST'S HAPPY TRAIL

do i appreciate sunlight. do i love the sound of birds in the morning. is the thought of milking that old man like a cow one that haunts me often.

GOD. Sometimes I think about Fritz Ludwig and I find myself wanting to be just almost teasingly, indulgently tender for him. I want to kiss along his neck and jaw while I stroke his cock, want to murmur praise that almost feels like such wonderful sin pressed against his skin. Maybe I bring him to sink further against the crook of my neck as the pace of my hand grows, maybe I ride him slowly with my temple pressed to his and my hand over his heart, but I want him to feel the true weight of devotion in every ounce of worship I shower upon him, to feel the sheer warmth and strength of sanctuary as he cums for me.

AND ALSO. Sometimes I think about Fritz Ludwig and I really want to give him the chance to take his pleasure from me. I need to feel his fingers tug my hair as he loses himself to the pleasure of the warmth of my mouth. I need that man to praise me like something truly sacred all while his pace is something downright unforgiving when he’s inside me. There’s prayers in the lovebites that cover me and worship in every thrust, and oh, I can truly feel the bliss of heaven when he cums inside of me.

anons here are mastering the art of religious erotica with a dash of blasphemy over this one guy and i personally love that for us

she gets it

Thinking...

Fritz, already feeling a sense of guilt regarding the weight of his cock in his hand, already feeling a small sense of both guilt and want for letting his thoughts drift to me...

Suddenly, when he hears my voice speak his name, there is a surge of panic and shame so powerful it properly jolts something in his chest, which runs down to his cock hard.

If he doesn't cum from the rush of the shock right then and there (oh God, oh God…the fight to stave himself is lost the minute he just barely manages to bite against his palm in an attempt to muffle the loud moan that pours from him, his cock pressed to his stomach as hot ropes of cum paint his chest…)…

...then he just barely manages to stave himself. He has to bring a palm to his mouth to bite back the groan that leaves him, his other hand firmly squeezing the base of his cock, slick with pre-cum he can see leaking from the tip.

No matter what, his breath is heavy; he only barely muffles the gasp that leaves him as his hands shake, heart stuttering. His breath hitches when he hears me knock, the words he wants to speak refusing to leave him. Any brace he could manage stills in the back of his throat when he catches my voice more clearly.

"I--you were calling out for me. Is everything alright?"

I'm thinking about Fritz again and JUST. Small orgasm denial thought. Just this pent up, stressed, craving thing who already feels a weight of both shame and relief just from having his cock in his hand, but then his thoughts wander to me, and he cannot hide the hitch of his breath as his cock jolts, the shame and want growing stronger.

His other hand covers his face as his pace on his cock grows, barely muffling the way he moans at the thought of my voice, of my hands being the ones to touch him…the hand on his face shifts to his mouth as he curls it into a fist, biting his knuckles after a particularly loud groan pours from his lips, but that barely manages to hide the whimpers that pour from him as he's fully pumping himself now, breath heavy as my name leaves him like a prayer--

His hand stops suddenly, stealing the air from his lungs as it firmly squeezes at the base of his cock. A hot sense of shame washes over him, hands shaking as he tries to brace himself to gather what little breath he can. Maybe he just barely manages to gather himself, drags himself to bed even as he can't quite quell the rapid thrum of his heartbeat, closing his eyes and feeling himself sink into a sense of want he's hesitating to fully let himself reach towards as his thoughts return to me.

me when the guilt coincides with the pent-up desire and as the guilt increase, so does the desire and need: