“Mar is mian leat,” he whispers, a touch of wickedness curling his lips.
His fingers sink back into Dorian’s hair, offering a bit like a scalp massage until he grips tightly and pulls back, forcing the man's chin up slightly.
She bends over him, kisses Dorian's neck--nips it--bites it. She's no vampire but her teeth are slightly sharper than a human's. Her hand, meanwhile, massages him, working to get him properly hard.
Dorian lets out another hiss as Sweeney yanks on his hair which soon turns into tired, delirious little laughter as he feels Annie's teeth nip on his neck. It's obvious that biting is another one of Dorian's kinks. It only takes him a few moments before his cock starts to grow hard, stiff in Annie's grip.
Yeah, that’s the one. It makes him think of raised flesh and purple bruises in the most delicious of ways.
Gently enough to avoid deterring her, but with the confidence of his want, Sweeney slides his fingers into her hair to cradle the back of her head where it meets her neck. The touch is firm enough to show support without forcing her down harder or to linger anywhere she doesn’t want to. He just wants to be there with her, feeling her savoring him.
She bites lower, distracting him while her hand gets more oil and slicks up the rose quartz phallus instead. "How many werewolves have you fucked?" A harder bite, deliberately making it harder for him to answer.
He wants to say something, he wants to give her an answer, but Annie's teeth on his neck make it so that Dorian only groans out a response instead. His cock is rock hard at this point and he's loving it. After a while, he pauses before admitting, "None. After all, I used to live in London. Not that many werewolves in the big city."
"You should drop by my world sometime," she purrs, slinking down his body, licking along his cock. She nips his lower belly, adding the threat that at any moment he might feel the graze of her teeth where one most certainly might not want any teeth.
Ohhh Christ, she's using her teeth there? Dorian's cock stiffens even further as he feels Annie's teeth against his chest. He strains against the ropes, he strains against Sweeney's grip on his hair, and the tug that both of those create feels just as good as the bite.
"God, I feel like I could cum any moment."
He doesn't, though. Annie's the boss, he'll only spill when she says so.
Dorian's words evoke a tightening twist of Sweeney's hand in his hair, as if he could rein the man back from the edge like one might do with a bridle. It's not intentional, just a subconscious coiling of his own muscles that know damn well what Annie can do when she puts her mind to it.
"You better not," her voice a little sing-song, with a little edge. Her head only comes up long enough for that warning before she takes him deep in her mouth, willing to test him a little while longer.
The head of the rose quartz phallus presses at him, a reminder of what he gets if he holds himself back long enough. Another minute, a full two minutes just toying with him with her mouth before she sits up and nods at Sweeney for the harness.
Ohhh hell this is tough. Dorian bites his tongue, clamping down hard, biting down so hard that he can taste a little bit of blood, just to try and push everything down and keep himself from just outright spilling in Annie's mouth.
He is barely holding it together by the end of those two minutes. This man is a near wreck.
He looks from Annie to Dorian and back, tipping his head to the side in concession. A flick of his free hand, and a mass of thin leather straps and clinking metal swing as they dangle from his fingers. He offers it to her with a small smirk.
She lets Dorian sit there and recover while she figures out the leather, the phallus, and spares Sweeney a sheepish grin. This is very, very new to her.
But never one to turn down a new experience, she smacks the inside of Dorian's leg to get him to part them further, and presses slowly into him once the stone is well oiled.
Dorian adjusts his position, spreading his legs for Annie. And when he feels something slip inside of him (that's got to be the phallus she showed off earlier), he lets out a little laugh of pleasure.
"Christ, I'm going to have to eat you out every day the rest of this week to make up for this," he laughs. Because this feels spectacular. He's cut off from the world, dancing on the edge of release, it's a sensation that he's missed so much.
It’s a curious sight, and one that makes him glad for the caveats he had placed on the gifts. And while she can’t feel such a thing as a man does, Sweeney does hope she has a good time. They're well-suited somehow, mostly in the chatty bits.
He keeps his hands dutifully wrapped in Dorian’s hair and pressed back into one shoulder.
She knows the rhythm, of course. But only from the position Dorian is now in, so it takes her time to figure it out--starts and stops, quiet self-conscious laughs that she ends with little bites on Dorian's neck as apology.
"You guys make this look easy," she teases, but a hand braced on the floor by Dorian's shoulder helps; a hand on his hip helps, and then smoothly she's fucking him.
The rope digs into his knee unpleasantly, but it's no deterrent. Sweeney swivels to the side, his calf pressing against Dorian's shoulder. The tight grip in the man's hair doesn't lessen, and it pulls his head to the side as the hand on his shoulder darts to Dorian's throat.
The length of it wraps around easily, but he makes no attempt to cut off his air. Instead, his thumb and forefinger catch roughly under his jaw and shove up, forcing Dorian's chin to lift even as weight presses the rest of him towards the floor.
Sweeney looks down his nose at the man before snapping his focus to Annie. His eyes are hungry, and his lips curl.
"Le do thoil, Trioblóid. Lig dom é a ghortú." He looks back down to Dorian as his smile spreads.
She's a little worried, but she knows Dorian goes this way. "If you want him to stop, grab my arm, okay?" She tells Dorian before she starts to fuck him again, long slow strokes while this is arranged.
There we go. Dorian grins as he feels a hand (that must be Sweeney's) around his throat. He lets out a small chuckle as he's forced upward, as even more weight is pressed up against him.
"Safe words are for pussies," he points out, letting out a small chuckle. And, as far as Dorian's concerned, grabbing Annie's arm counts as a safe word. He indulges in the feeling of being on the edge, of being fucked so hard that it's hard for him to concentrate.
His grip tightens to shallow Dorian's breath as his fingers burrow deeper under his jaw.
"Le do thoil, Trioblóid," he repeats. There's a pause before he tips his head, both in respect and deference.
"When ya would have it." Sweeney's tongue slides over his teeth as he peeks up at her, his head still bowed. Even lowered, his grin is still quite apparent. A thought comes, and he looks to the bed and back.
"Perhaps when he's earned it?" He's implying the privilege of being on the bed, but she's welcome to take it however she fancies.
Dorian certainly seems very excited at the idea of one, going on the bed and two, getting further fucked silly on the bed. He lets Sweeney and Annie guide him, moving wherever they direct him.
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"My kink is pretending to be anybody that's not myself."
Someone enjoys some role-play in the bedroom and isn't ashamed to admit it.
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His fingers sink back into Dorian’s hair, offering a bit like a scalp massage until he grips tightly and pulls back, forcing the man's chin up slightly.
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Gently enough to avoid deterring her, but with the confidence of his want, Sweeney slides his fingers into her hair to cradle the back of her head where it meets her neck. The touch is firm enough to show support without forcing her down harder or to linger anywhere she doesn’t want to. He just wants to be there with her, feeling her savoring him.
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Otherwise, he’s perfectly pleased to watch, his knee on the rope and both hands full of hair.
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"God, I feel like I could cum any moment."
He doesn't, though. Annie's the boss, he'll only spill when she says so.
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The head of the rose quartz phallus presses at him, a reminder of what he gets if he holds himself back long enough. Another minute, a full two minutes just toying with him with her mouth before she sits up and nods at Sweeney for the harness.
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He is barely holding it together by the end of those two minutes. This man is a near wreck.
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But never one to turn down a new experience, she smacks the inside of Dorian's leg to get him to part them further, and presses slowly into him once the stone is well oiled.
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"Christ, I'm going to have to eat you out every day the rest of this week to make up for this," he laughs. Because this feels spectacular. He's cut off from the world, dancing on the edge of release, it's a sensation that he's missed so much.
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He keeps his hands dutifully wrapped in Dorian’s hair and pressed back into one shoulder.
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"You guys make this look easy," she teases, but a hand braced on the floor by Dorian's shoulder helps; a hand on his hip helps, and then smoothly she's fucking him.
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"That's because, unlike you, I have experience. You're basically a child, after all."
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The length of it wraps around easily, but he makes no attempt to cut off his air. Instead, his thumb and forefinger catch roughly under his jaw and shove up, forcing Dorian's chin to lift even as weight presses the rest of him towards the floor.
Sweeney looks down his nose at the man before snapping his focus to Annie. His eyes are hungry, and his lips curl.
"Le do thoil, Trioblóid. Lig dom é a ghortú." He looks back down to Dorian as his smile spreads.
"Let me show him my...experience."
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"Safe words are for pussies," he points out, letting out a small chuckle. And, as far as Dorian's concerned, grabbing Annie's arm counts as a safe word. He indulges in the feeling of being on the edge, of being fucked so hard that it's hard for him to concentrate.
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His grip tightens to shallow Dorian's breath as his fingers burrow deeper under his jaw.
"Le do thoil, Trioblóid," he repeats. There's a pause before he tips his head, both in respect and deference.
"When ya would have it." Sweeney's tongue slides over his teeth as he peeks up at her, his head still bowed. Even lowered, his grin is still quite apparent. A thought comes, and he looks to the bed and back.
"Perhaps when he's earned it?" He's implying the privilege of being on the bed, but she's welcome to take it however she fancies.
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This is something she could do, but she's enjoying issuing marching orders.
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