[Satan's tongue is longue but it isn't long enough enough to hit him as deep as he needs him to go. It still feels utterly amazing to have that tongue so deep inside him. Wriothesley csn barely focus on his own task and keeping himself up at the same time with how deeply Satan's tongue fucking him.
Sure, he takes Satan deeper into his own mouth, but it's really only cause he's so unfocused he's not worried about gagging or anything like that. His own ministrations on Satan are purely running on instinct at the moment. More weight is put on Satan as his thighs shake more from the pleasure his ass is getting as he continue to moan with a mouth full of cock]
[At this point, Wriothesley not giving the best, tightest, most vacuum-sealed head doesn't matter; it's slick wet heat that he can still buck into, so Satan's very, very content. He's more focused on eating him out too, to be honest; never mind the way he's probably not far from cumming, when he gets to feel such a big guy turn to absolute mush in his hands (and mouth).
Almost better than the salt-sweat taste and the still hot, red skin burning against his palms as he keeps Wriothesley spread open. Maybe equal to. But
his tongue's indeed cramping so like. Break for a second. One reluctant, regretful kiss against his hole, before Satan starts kissing over his perineum instead, nibbling gently down to his balls. No tongue, or at least not enough to make the poor muscle hurt more, just mouthing and huffing happily away.]
...You're gonna hurt yourself, you keep staying up like this. Kehehe. [smooch smooch smooch, this time along the crease of Wriothesley's innermost thigh.] Just sit on my goddamn face already, pretty-boy.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Sure, he takes Satan deeper into his own mouth, but it's really only cause he's so unfocused he's not worried about gagging or anything like that. His own ministrations on Satan are purely running on instinct at the moment. More weight is put on Satan as his thighs shake more from the pleasure his ass is getting as he continue to moan with a mouth full of cock]
no subject
Almost better than the salt-sweat taste and the still hot, red skin burning against his palms as he keeps Wriothesley spread open. Maybe equal to. But
his tongue's indeed cramping so like. Break for a second. One reluctant, regretful kiss against his hole, before Satan starts kissing over his perineum instead, nibbling gently down to his balls. No tongue, or at least not enough to make the poor muscle hurt more, just mouthing and huffing happily away.]
...You're gonna hurt yourself, you keep staying up like this. Kehehe. [smooch smooch smooch, this time along the crease of Wriothesley's innermost thigh.] Just sit on my goddamn face already, pretty-boy.