Commission: Topic Of Conversation
Commission one of three for iiely :)
Title: Topic Of Conversation
Word Count: 2800
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Nudity, strong sexual content, pegging
Disclaimer: I hold no rights to these characters or their associated stories/universes. All rights belong to their respective owners.
Charlie had been working on the Gundam all night. She was covered in grease, her face smudged with streaks of dirt, but she was still smiling. She liked to joke that she ran on positive energy and double espressos, but Cecil thought she fueled her body with pure and unfiltered obsession. Anything having to do with the Gundams, whether it was routine maintenance or something much more technical, and Charlie was gleefully willing to sacrifice sleep.
Cecil thought of the machines differently than his mechanic. They represented a war he didn't understand and a means to an end he didn't fully support. The powers that be issued the orders, however, and Cecil was all too complacent with following them. Let other people waste their time worrying over motivations and end results, Cecil only wanted a chain of command; he wanted a course of action.
He knew little of the spat between the Federation and the Imperium. He knew even less of what he was doing with himself from one minute to the next. As a creature that craved structure and order, Cecil loathed that level of uncertainty. Charlie, on the other hand, seemed blissfully unaware. Either that or the woman didn't have the capacity to care beyond Cecil's Gundam.
If Charlie had a handful of lubed wires, she was perfectly content. Cecil, meanwhile, seemed difficult, if not impossible, to please. He spent every moment he could afford not inside some robotic suit tending to his guns. He had all kinds of them, stashed in his room and other places throughout the Titanica. Some would have said they were strewn about haphazardly, but that was a misconception. He took care of his guns, he knew where each was and in what condition he had left it. In those scant moments of relaxation Cecil was afforded he gathered them together and cleaned them, occasionally taking some to the firing range for practice. Then again, a well-oiled machine rarely needed practice or maintenance, and Cecil was quite the well-oiled machine.
If he were feeling particularly boastful, which was rare, he would tell people he could shoot down a man from five-hundred yards away with one arm tied behind his back. An overestimation of his abilities, but not by as much as most people thought.
That night, though, Cecil was relaxing on his bed, pretending to read some extraordinarily boring training manual. He knew well enough of the mechanics of war, what he seemed unable to grasp was the necessity.
Charlie was in the bunk bed beneath him, scrubbing the grease from her cheek with what appeared to be an even greasier rag. Every day, it seemed, Cecil noticed Charlie more and more. Not just the shape of her body, which was quite nice, or the electric blue of her eyes, which was even nicer; no, Cecil had begun to notice the way she laughed and smelled and curled her hair around her finger. They were not important aspects of her personality, they in no way formed a clearer picture of who Charlotte Dayton was - and yet, Cecil noticed.
He was not in the habit of noticing a person's tiny habits and eccentricities, but Charlie fascinated him. She wasn't like anyone he had ever known, certainly no woman. She was loud, forward, and obstinate. She demanded attention, and when she offered advice, it sounded more like a command. Cecil was more than willing to follow her lead, to do what she (loudly) suggested. He had not been built for commandership while Charlie, even if she were just a mechanic, obviously had.
Cecil glanced over and saw Charlie peering at him over the top bunk. He stared at her for a long moment, before flipping the manual closed and tossing it away.
“You've said two words to me this whole time, Cassy,” Charlie said, pulling herself up to Cecil's bunk by her deceptively muscular forearms. She fit herself on his bed, knees tucked up against his side. She was a small woman with a giant personality, and Cecil wasn't afraid to admit - at least to himself - that he was quite fond of her.
“Was there something you wanted to talk about?” Cecil asked. He noticed that Charlie was trying her damnedest to make eye contact with him, and he forced his eyes up to hers.
“Well, nothing in particular,” Charlie said, grinning and shrugging. “It just seems to me that when two people are alone together they should at least try to have a pleasant conversation. Or not even pleasant, really, but some kind of conversation. Do you really want to lay here all night reading that boring trash?”
No, he didn't want to read the manual. Besides which, he could hardly make sense of what he'd been reading, even if it had been written in layman's terms. As much as he had not been built for commandership, he had not been built for studying either.
Charlie's hand was on his knee.
It could have been perceived as a friendly touch - Cecil was no expert when it came to the subtleties of society and etiquette - but it felt to him to be anything but. Aside from the fact that Charlie was not only cupping his knee but massaging it, Cecil saw a fair amount of lust in her eyes. He was forced to look away from her, stumbling over some kind of words that never fully became a coherent sentence.
“Odd topic of conversation,” Cecil muttered. He could feel himself blushing. Judging by the burn at his cheeks and the back of his ears, Charlie could clearly see it. She laughed at what Cecil could only assume was his awkwardness and moved her hand to his inner thigh. Strange, Charlie was always chatty. She always had something to say about one esoteric topic or another - but that night she was strangely quiet, only accentuating the movement of her hand with laughter and thoughtful hums.
“Charlie---“ Cecil moved to grab her hand, but Charlie's voice stopped him.
“Let me give you a piece of advice,” Charlie said. When she said that, Cecil felt compelled to shut up and listen. “When a girl is touching you like this, don't try and stop her. Really, Cassy, that's just kind of silly.”
Her advice had always been sound. Cecil had no reason to believe she would ever mislead him.
Her hand inched a little higher, her oil stained fingers smudging his trousers. She pushed up under Cecil's shirt, tracing over his stomach and chest. Her thumb and forefinger, slippery with oil, pinched his nipple and tweaked lightly. Cecil's entire body was suddenly flushed, but there was a part of him - a not so surprising part, in fact - that enjoyed her attention.
“Charlie,” Cecil whispered. He wasn't sure if he meant to sound contemptuous or encouraging, and in the end it didn't matter. Charlie knew what she wanted, and she had always been extremely good at having her way. Short of actually strapping him down and forcing him, Cecil hoped. He reached out and curled his hand under her hair at the nape of her neck. There was a moment of uncertainty for both of them. Cecil hadn't believed it was possible for Charlie to have doubts, she had always lived and operated with so much drive and purpose - but there was clear uncertainty in her eyes.
Then Cecil was pulling her down against his mouth, and she was straddling his hips and everything fell into place. It was amazing how perfectly they fit together. Charlie's body, every curve of her, nestled against Cecil's chest snugly.
Everything was in the way. Cecil had never noticed how burdensome his military uniform was until there was a buxom woman straddling his waist. Charlie laughed inside of his mouth, breaking the kiss briefly to pull his uniform shirt off over his head. Cecil, fairly sure he was working on only the most basic of animal instinct, jerked at the zipper of her overalls. He caught one breast and squeezed with little gentleness. Charlie bucked into his touch, her head rocking back, and Cecil leaned in to lick from her cleavage to her throat.
Her breasts were full and heavy in his hands. Pale, soft, supple flesh responded eagerly to his touch. Cecil traced his thumb over a nipple, using his tongue to stroke the other. Charlie breathed something, too low and guttural to be understood. Her hand tangled in his hair, her blunt nails curling into his scalp.
Too much fabric, that was all Cecil knew; too much separation. He pushed Charlie's overalls from her shoulders and wrapped his arms around her waist. Cecil buried his face in her breasts, overcome by the greasy, metallic, oddly sweet smell of her. Overcome more by how soft and pliable she felt in his arms. Cecil had always known Charlie to be tough. Her body was not a reflection of that.
“This is what they want when they put us together,” Charlie said. She was breathless, though she still managed to sound completely in control. “They want us to bond. Pilot and mechanic; makes the relationship stronger or something.”
Cecil highly doubted this was what the higher-ups meant by 'forming a bond', but he wasn't about to point that out to Charlie. He had a mouthful of her breast, and he could feel her bearing down on his cock through his trousers. There was no need to debate semantics.
Charlie's lips pressed against Cecil's ear, her breath warm and moist. “I want you on your belly,” she whispered, her short nails curling a little tighter against his scalp. “That's an order soldier.”
What could she possibly have wanted him on his stomach for? Cecil had a small inkling of unease as Charlie moved from his hips and urged him onto his belly. Unorthodox as it might have been, Cecil couldn't deny the bundle of excitement in his stomach and groin. He could feel every inch of his body thrumming with adrenaline and desire, and he closed his eyes and left himself in Charlie's more than capable hands.
He listened to the minute sounds of Charlie slipping out of her overalls. He could only imagine what she must have looked like, every sleek, curvy, fair-skinned inch of her, and he barely suppressed a shiver. Charlie slowly massaged from Cecil's neck to the small of his back, her thumbs digging in deep, making Cecil unable to suppress his trembling any longer. She grabbed his hips and forced them up, spreading his thighs apart with a gentle nudge from her knee.
“I don't know why they want you to wear this,” Charlie muttered. She struggled to get Cecil out of his trousers, but was forced to resign herself to the impossible task and let Cecil wiggle out of them himself. He bit his lip when she tugged at his underwear, biting down harder when Charlie laughed. “You're so red,” Charlie said, chuckling and gently rubbing at Cecil's side. “It's alright, you know. I won't bite… Unless you're into that.”
Cecil didn't trust himself to speak. He remained quiet, letting Charlie pull his underwear down and take hold of his ass. He found himself biting down on his forearm. If Charlie noticed she had nothing witty or mocking to say on the matter. Cecil moaned into his arm when Charlie eased a finger into him. The lube on her finger was of the normal variety, used for these kinds of encounters and not greasing the pistons on a gear. Where she kept lube, Cecil didn't know or care.
“Charlie,” Cecil groaned. He felt suddenly and overwhelmingly ashamed, with no clear idea of why. He also felt incredibly horny. The latter was expressed by how he rocked back onto her finger.
She whispered to him, God only knew what, but her tone was soothing enough. Cecil relaxed, and when Charlie pushed another finger inside of him, he responded with only the briefest hitch in his breathing. She was preparing him for something. Cecil didn't know what, though he had a few ideas. He wondered if Charlie always behaved this way during sex. He doubted it. She had most likely been saving this side of her sexual nature for him. There was a strange relationship between a pilot and his or her mechanic. A closeness that words failed to capture. He trusted her with everything, and Charlie had always proved herself to be a reliable mechanic and friend.
Whatever she wanted with him, Cecil had no doubt she would take care of him.
Even in more intimate matters, Cecil refused to take charge.
Charlie removed her fingers. Cecil felt the bed shift as Charlie hopped down. She rummaged around in the bottom bunk for a few minutes before hoisting herself back up. Cecil kept his face pressed against his forearm. He could feel cool air against his lubed anus, and tiny shivers moved up his spine. He missed the warmth of her fingers, he missed the way she curled and twisted them inside of them. That shame returned, flaringly bright for a moment, before he was consumed in his pathetic animal want of her.
Something much larger than a finger pressed against his anus. Cecil tensed, biting down roughly on his arm. Charlie touched his shoulder, massaging tenderly, as she pushed whatever large, smooth object she had into him. She whispered to him again, telling him to relax, that she would take care of him. Of course she would. That was her job after all. More than the Gundam, Charlie Dayton had been unofficially charged with taking especial care of Cecil Cassidy.
“Charlie,” Cecil panted. It seemed all he could say was her name. “Charlie, ah-“
Charlie pushed in deeper, sighing as her hips settled against Cecil's rear. When their flesh touched, Cecil moaned. So that was what the woman was pushing into him. Not just a toy, but a strap-on. Cecil hadn't been expecting it, but that didn't stop him from enjoying every inch of it.
She grabbed his hair and jerked his head back, thrusting her hips. Behind each thrust there was power, and more than that, there was experience. She knew just what she was doing, and she knew just what he was feeling. Perhaps, because of her inability to truly feel the inside of his body through the toy, Cecil had believed Charlie couldn't have known just how he wanted it. She surprised him by slamming into him, hitting every tender, sweet spot inside of him.
Cecil moaned, pushing back against her, overcome with bestial, primal desire. Charlie grabbed his cock and stroked him in time with her thrusts. Everything collided inside of him, in his brain and belly and balls. He tightened, dangerously close to the edge. Heat poured through him, flooding over his frazzled nerves. He called out her name, coming as she stroked and slammed and cupped him with her greased hands.
He collapsed, powerless to support himself. He flopped onto his back, his eyes screwed shut. Cecil didn't want to look at Charlie, didn't want to see what she had done to him. But of course he had to, and of course she looked beautiful and entirely calm. She smiled down at him, crawling over his body and settling her knees on either side of his face.
The toy was large, but not nearly as large as it had felt. Cecil looked up at Charlie in disbelief. Surely she couldn't expect him to use his mouth---
“Not done just yet,” Charlie whispered, grasping the toy and nudging the tip against Cecil's lips.
Cecil's body was drained. He was exhausted, and left without any recourse. Charlie had, after all, been very good to him. It stood to reason that he owed her the same courtesy.
He wrapped his mouth around the toy. Cecil could taste himself, but he didn't let that realization - no matter how disgusting he found it - stop him. He sucked and licked at the toy, keeping his eyes turned up to Charlie as he did so. Normally he would be the first to break eye contact, but there was something about Charlie that he couldn't quite look away from.
When he was finished, or when Charlie decided he'd done enough, she pulled away from him and inched down to rest her hips between his thighs. Cecil could feel the toy, slick with lube and spit, nudging against his rear, and he shuddered.
Charlie pressed a kiss against Cecil's throat, licking up his sweat methodically. She moved her face into his neck and laughed when Cecil awkwardly wrapped his arms around her.
“That was a nice conversation,” Charlie said, “We should have another one soon.”
“Yes,” Cecil agreed, reluctantly, “Next time though… I get to pick the topic.”
Title: Topic Of Conversation
Word Count: 2800
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Nudity, strong sexual content, pegging
Disclaimer: I hold no rights to these characters or their associated stories/universes. All rights belong to their respective owners.
Charlie had been working on the Gundam all night. She was covered in grease, her face smudged with streaks of dirt, but she was still smiling. She liked to joke that she ran on positive energy and double espressos, but Cecil thought she fueled her body with pure and unfiltered obsession. Anything having to do with the Gundams, whether it was routine maintenance or something much more technical, and Charlie was gleefully willing to sacrifice sleep.
Cecil thought of the machines differently than his mechanic. They represented a war he didn't understand and a means to an end he didn't fully support. The powers that be issued the orders, however, and Cecil was all too complacent with following them. Let other people waste their time worrying over motivations and end results, Cecil only wanted a chain of command; he wanted a course of action.
He knew little of the spat between the Federation and the Imperium. He knew even less of what he was doing with himself from one minute to the next. As a creature that craved structure and order, Cecil loathed that level of uncertainty. Charlie, on the other hand, seemed blissfully unaware. Either that or the woman didn't have the capacity to care beyond Cecil's Gundam.
If Charlie had a handful of lubed wires, she was perfectly content. Cecil, meanwhile, seemed difficult, if not impossible, to please. He spent every moment he could afford not inside some robotic suit tending to his guns. He had all kinds of them, stashed in his room and other places throughout the Titanica. Some would have said they were strewn about haphazardly, but that was a misconception. He took care of his guns, he knew where each was and in what condition he had left it. In those scant moments of relaxation Cecil was afforded he gathered them together and cleaned them, occasionally taking some to the firing range for practice. Then again, a well-oiled machine rarely needed practice or maintenance, and Cecil was quite the well-oiled machine.
If he were feeling particularly boastful, which was rare, he would tell people he could shoot down a man from five-hundred yards away with one arm tied behind his back. An overestimation of his abilities, but not by as much as most people thought.
That night, though, Cecil was relaxing on his bed, pretending to read some extraordinarily boring training manual. He knew well enough of the mechanics of war, what he seemed unable to grasp was the necessity.
Charlie was in the bunk bed beneath him, scrubbing the grease from her cheek with what appeared to be an even greasier rag. Every day, it seemed, Cecil noticed Charlie more and more. Not just the shape of her body, which was quite nice, or the electric blue of her eyes, which was even nicer; no, Cecil had begun to notice the way she laughed and smelled and curled her hair around her finger. They were not important aspects of her personality, they in no way formed a clearer picture of who Charlotte Dayton was - and yet, Cecil noticed.
He was not in the habit of noticing a person's tiny habits and eccentricities, but Charlie fascinated him. She wasn't like anyone he had ever known, certainly no woman. She was loud, forward, and obstinate. She demanded attention, and when she offered advice, it sounded more like a command. Cecil was more than willing to follow her lead, to do what she (loudly) suggested. He had not been built for commandership while Charlie, even if she were just a mechanic, obviously had.
Cecil glanced over and saw Charlie peering at him over the top bunk. He stared at her for a long moment, before flipping the manual closed and tossing it away.
“You've said two words to me this whole time, Cassy,” Charlie said, pulling herself up to Cecil's bunk by her deceptively muscular forearms. She fit herself on his bed, knees tucked up against his side. She was a small woman with a giant personality, and Cecil wasn't afraid to admit - at least to himself - that he was quite fond of her.
“Was there something you wanted to talk about?” Cecil asked. He noticed that Charlie was trying her damnedest to make eye contact with him, and he forced his eyes up to hers.
“Well, nothing in particular,” Charlie said, grinning and shrugging. “It just seems to me that when two people are alone together they should at least try to have a pleasant conversation. Or not even pleasant, really, but some kind of conversation. Do you really want to lay here all night reading that boring trash?”
No, he didn't want to read the manual. Besides which, he could hardly make sense of what he'd been reading, even if it had been written in layman's terms. As much as he had not been built for commandership, he had not been built for studying either.
Charlie's hand was on his knee.
It could have been perceived as a friendly touch - Cecil was no expert when it came to the subtleties of society and etiquette - but it felt to him to be anything but. Aside from the fact that Charlie was not only cupping his knee but massaging it, Cecil saw a fair amount of lust in her eyes. He was forced to look away from her, stumbling over some kind of words that never fully became a coherent sentence.
“Odd topic of conversation,” Cecil muttered. He could feel himself blushing. Judging by the burn at his cheeks and the back of his ears, Charlie could clearly see it. She laughed at what Cecil could only assume was his awkwardness and moved her hand to his inner thigh. Strange, Charlie was always chatty. She always had something to say about one esoteric topic or another - but that night she was strangely quiet, only accentuating the movement of her hand with laughter and thoughtful hums.
“Charlie---“ Cecil moved to grab her hand, but Charlie's voice stopped him.
“Let me give you a piece of advice,” Charlie said. When she said that, Cecil felt compelled to shut up and listen. “When a girl is touching you like this, don't try and stop her. Really, Cassy, that's just kind of silly.”
Her advice had always been sound. Cecil had no reason to believe she would ever mislead him.
Her hand inched a little higher, her oil stained fingers smudging his trousers. She pushed up under Cecil's shirt, tracing over his stomach and chest. Her thumb and forefinger, slippery with oil, pinched his nipple and tweaked lightly. Cecil's entire body was suddenly flushed, but there was a part of him - a not so surprising part, in fact - that enjoyed her attention.
“Charlie,” Cecil whispered. He wasn't sure if he meant to sound contemptuous or encouraging, and in the end it didn't matter. Charlie knew what she wanted, and she had always been extremely good at having her way. Short of actually strapping him down and forcing him, Cecil hoped. He reached out and curled his hand under her hair at the nape of her neck. There was a moment of uncertainty for both of them. Cecil hadn't believed it was possible for Charlie to have doubts, she had always lived and operated with so much drive and purpose - but there was clear uncertainty in her eyes.
Then Cecil was pulling her down against his mouth, and she was straddling his hips and everything fell into place. It was amazing how perfectly they fit together. Charlie's body, every curve of her, nestled against Cecil's chest snugly.
Everything was in the way. Cecil had never noticed how burdensome his military uniform was until there was a buxom woman straddling his waist. Charlie laughed inside of his mouth, breaking the kiss briefly to pull his uniform shirt off over his head. Cecil, fairly sure he was working on only the most basic of animal instinct, jerked at the zipper of her overalls. He caught one breast and squeezed with little gentleness. Charlie bucked into his touch, her head rocking back, and Cecil leaned in to lick from her cleavage to her throat.
Her breasts were full and heavy in his hands. Pale, soft, supple flesh responded eagerly to his touch. Cecil traced his thumb over a nipple, using his tongue to stroke the other. Charlie breathed something, too low and guttural to be understood. Her hand tangled in his hair, her blunt nails curling into his scalp.
Too much fabric, that was all Cecil knew; too much separation. He pushed Charlie's overalls from her shoulders and wrapped his arms around her waist. Cecil buried his face in her breasts, overcome by the greasy, metallic, oddly sweet smell of her. Overcome more by how soft and pliable she felt in his arms. Cecil had always known Charlie to be tough. Her body was not a reflection of that.
“This is what they want when they put us together,” Charlie said. She was breathless, though she still managed to sound completely in control. “They want us to bond. Pilot and mechanic; makes the relationship stronger or something.”
Cecil highly doubted this was what the higher-ups meant by 'forming a bond', but he wasn't about to point that out to Charlie. He had a mouthful of her breast, and he could feel her bearing down on his cock through his trousers. There was no need to debate semantics.
Charlie's lips pressed against Cecil's ear, her breath warm and moist. “I want you on your belly,” she whispered, her short nails curling a little tighter against his scalp. “That's an order soldier.”
What could she possibly have wanted him on his stomach for? Cecil had a small inkling of unease as Charlie moved from his hips and urged him onto his belly. Unorthodox as it might have been, Cecil couldn't deny the bundle of excitement in his stomach and groin. He could feel every inch of his body thrumming with adrenaline and desire, and he closed his eyes and left himself in Charlie's more than capable hands.
He listened to the minute sounds of Charlie slipping out of her overalls. He could only imagine what she must have looked like, every sleek, curvy, fair-skinned inch of her, and he barely suppressed a shiver. Charlie slowly massaged from Cecil's neck to the small of his back, her thumbs digging in deep, making Cecil unable to suppress his trembling any longer. She grabbed his hips and forced them up, spreading his thighs apart with a gentle nudge from her knee.
“I don't know why they want you to wear this,” Charlie muttered. She struggled to get Cecil out of his trousers, but was forced to resign herself to the impossible task and let Cecil wiggle out of them himself. He bit his lip when she tugged at his underwear, biting down harder when Charlie laughed. “You're so red,” Charlie said, chuckling and gently rubbing at Cecil's side. “It's alright, you know. I won't bite… Unless you're into that.”
Cecil didn't trust himself to speak. He remained quiet, letting Charlie pull his underwear down and take hold of his ass. He found himself biting down on his forearm. If Charlie noticed she had nothing witty or mocking to say on the matter. Cecil moaned into his arm when Charlie eased a finger into him. The lube on her finger was of the normal variety, used for these kinds of encounters and not greasing the pistons on a gear. Where she kept lube, Cecil didn't know or care.
“Charlie,” Cecil groaned. He felt suddenly and overwhelmingly ashamed, with no clear idea of why. He also felt incredibly horny. The latter was expressed by how he rocked back onto her finger.
She whispered to him, God only knew what, but her tone was soothing enough. Cecil relaxed, and when Charlie pushed another finger inside of him, he responded with only the briefest hitch in his breathing. She was preparing him for something. Cecil didn't know what, though he had a few ideas. He wondered if Charlie always behaved this way during sex. He doubted it. She had most likely been saving this side of her sexual nature for him. There was a strange relationship between a pilot and his or her mechanic. A closeness that words failed to capture. He trusted her with everything, and Charlie had always proved herself to be a reliable mechanic and friend.
Whatever she wanted with him, Cecil had no doubt she would take care of him.
Even in more intimate matters, Cecil refused to take charge.
Charlie removed her fingers. Cecil felt the bed shift as Charlie hopped down. She rummaged around in the bottom bunk for a few minutes before hoisting herself back up. Cecil kept his face pressed against his forearm. He could feel cool air against his lubed anus, and tiny shivers moved up his spine. He missed the warmth of her fingers, he missed the way she curled and twisted them inside of them. That shame returned, flaringly bright for a moment, before he was consumed in his pathetic animal want of her.
Something much larger than a finger pressed against his anus. Cecil tensed, biting down roughly on his arm. Charlie touched his shoulder, massaging tenderly, as she pushed whatever large, smooth object she had into him. She whispered to him again, telling him to relax, that she would take care of him. Of course she would. That was her job after all. More than the Gundam, Charlie Dayton had been unofficially charged with taking especial care of Cecil Cassidy.
“Charlie,” Cecil panted. It seemed all he could say was her name. “Charlie, ah-“
Charlie pushed in deeper, sighing as her hips settled against Cecil's rear. When their flesh touched, Cecil moaned. So that was what the woman was pushing into him. Not just a toy, but a strap-on. Cecil hadn't been expecting it, but that didn't stop him from enjoying every inch of it.
She grabbed his hair and jerked his head back, thrusting her hips. Behind each thrust there was power, and more than that, there was experience. She knew just what she was doing, and she knew just what he was feeling. Perhaps, because of her inability to truly feel the inside of his body through the toy, Cecil had believed Charlie couldn't have known just how he wanted it. She surprised him by slamming into him, hitting every tender, sweet spot inside of him.
Cecil moaned, pushing back against her, overcome with bestial, primal desire. Charlie grabbed his cock and stroked him in time with her thrusts. Everything collided inside of him, in his brain and belly and balls. He tightened, dangerously close to the edge. Heat poured through him, flooding over his frazzled nerves. He called out her name, coming as she stroked and slammed and cupped him with her greased hands.
He collapsed, powerless to support himself. He flopped onto his back, his eyes screwed shut. Cecil didn't want to look at Charlie, didn't want to see what she had done to him. But of course he had to, and of course she looked beautiful and entirely calm. She smiled down at him, crawling over his body and settling her knees on either side of his face.
The toy was large, but not nearly as large as it had felt. Cecil looked up at Charlie in disbelief. Surely she couldn't expect him to use his mouth---
“Not done just yet,” Charlie whispered, grasping the toy and nudging the tip against Cecil's lips.
Cecil's body was drained. He was exhausted, and left without any recourse. Charlie had, after all, been very good to him. It stood to reason that he owed her the same courtesy.
He wrapped his mouth around the toy. Cecil could taste himself, but he didn't let that realization - no matter how disgusting he found it - stop him. He sucked and licked at the toy, keeping his eyes turned up to Charlie as he did so. Normally he would be the first to break eye contact, but there was something about Charlie that he couldn't quite look away from.
When he was finished, or when Charlie decided he'd done enough, she pulled away from him and inched down to rest her hips between his thighs. Cecil could feel the toy, slick with lube and spit, nudging against his rear, and he shuddered.
Charlie pressed a kiss against Cecil's throat, licking up his sweat methodically. She moved her face into his neck and laughed when Cecil awkwardly wrapped his arms around her.
“That was a nice conversation,” Charlie said, “We should have another one soon.”
“Yes,” Cecil agreed, reluctantly, “Next time though… I get to pick the topic.”