Fic: We'll Just Tell Them I
Title: We'll Just Tell Them I
Fandom: Bandom- Panic! At the Disco (Now with Added genderswap)
Rating-Pairing: NC-17, Jon Walker/Girl!Spencer Smith
Warnings: Um, Strap-ons? Do I have to warn for that?
Prompt-Notes: Originally written as Comment Porn for Clumsygyrl, Under the idea that Panic At the Disco consists of three girls and Jon Walker. How that's any different from real life is up to you. Still, it's pegging het. Written for the Kink_bingo prompt 'Strap on'. Yes, I used my wild card. What of it, hmm?
Thanks to: Bexone for the original Idea, clumsygyrl for letting it explode all over her journal, and Stephanometra for screaming, flailing, and cleaning up my horrible punctuation.
Disclaimer: Um, I don't own these people. Although if I did, they wouldn't be allowed outside the house...without copious amounts of eye makeup at least. Also, Spencer Smith isn't a girl. Although It'd be helpful to own a Girl!Spencer, who went to check my mail in copious amounts of eye makeup. Hmm, this calls for science.
Summary: The one where Brenna's sick, Ryanne's sick, Jon's Jon, and Spencer's equal parts horny and not happy with the general state of things.
When Spencer takes Jon shopping for a harness, she doesn't realize that she could have just made it on her own. There are a lot of them, all custom made with enough buckles and doo-dads that she can't decide. Jon points out ones made from swaths of leather, that would fit to her hips like a pair of good underwear, but Spencer doesn't want that, not when she could just get the simple, stringy one on the cheap and use the rest of the money to buy another dildo instead. Jon frowns as she buys it, but she insists that she's practical, and all she needs is something to hold a fake dick onto her crotch for a good thirty, forty-five minutes. It's not that big of a deal. She asserts that Jon really has no stake in a problem like this, frankly, because his dick stays on straight without any help.
It's a few stressful, dense days after that. Brenna's sick, Ryanne's on her period, and Jon's Jon, so he doesn't care either goddamn way. She thinks, in a huff, of how she should just go pluck a groupie from backstage, saddle up and ride, but even that seems like too much work right now. She finds herself tossing and turning in her bunk in a huff.
She rolls over again, looks at her new toy, still bundled up in its cylindrical packaging, and reaches for it. She's the kind of woman who breaks in her toys alone, and her new cock can keep her company enough, thank you very much.
She thinks of how it'll look on her the first time it sits on her pelvis and stays there, the long gentle curve of the silicone, the sweet little details at the head. She imagines Ryanne on her knees, running her glossy red lips all over it, trying to see how far down she can go before turning over and raising her ass up as if to ask 'pile drive me, Spence?' in her innocent way. She imagines double-teaming Brenna with Jon right before her vocal warm-up, maybe even asking Ryanne to take one of her toys and slip it into Brenna's open and groaning mouth, see how far that throat, that voice, and that ass could stretch before it breaks. Hell, she even imagines playing the teasing game with Jon, letting her dick rub up against his as they kiss, letting him bend her over and fuck her molasses-slow, the sound of that second cock rubbing against the bed the only sound that matters in the room.
She thinks of complex fantasies of all four of them in puppy pile, not knowing who's in whom, what's where, but before she even gets anywhere too complex, she's already come. The fingers of her free hand are pressing into her clit while she slides the cock in and out at a different rhythm, in a different direction. She strains to keep quiet, rolls over and attempts to groan deep and low into the pillow, but Ryanne's knock from from the bunk above hers is low and annoying.
Ryanne lowers her head down from the top bunk and peers in, watching as Spencer crumples into herself, slowly pulling the dildo away.
"Look, Spence. That was hot. It was, like, really hot and all, but I feel like shit and I'd kinda like to sleep. You think you're done?" Ryanne asks, almost peppy.
"Fuck you, 007," Spencer smiles.
"Take a raincheck, Tracie Lords?"
"Yes. I'm done," Spencer says, clipped but easy. She leans up, pressing a kiss to Ryanne's clammy forehead. "Goodnight. Feel better."
Ryanne grins before she pops back up into her own bunk. " Thanks, I hope I will."
Spencer deflates across her sheets, burrows under her own blankets and hopes that by the time they get to the next hotel, she'll have someone to fuck.
It's days like these that Spencer just. hates. life.
Ryanne and Brenna have obviously traded ailments, and while Brenna's stomping around her room on her usual menstrual tirade of how she hates being a woman and her body is exhibiting all the signs of internal patriarchy, Ryanne has started coughing up things that are remarkably green and hard when she pokes at them while staring at eye level. For some reason, she also feels the need to announce this to the class.
Still, the hotel's a welcome respite from the bus and her bunk, and she's decided that it's best she stays away from the sickness twins on this particular stop, so she shares a room with Jon instead. Jon's quiet and laid-back enough that she wouldn't even be able to find a reason to regret it, not between the old science fiction movies and the fact that Jon has a knack for ordering room service that actually tastes like real food.
After dinner, the room falls somewhat silent. When the Earth Stood Still is playing on the TV screen, but Spencer knows she hasn't been paying attention at all and can't bring herself to care. She presses her lips together, bites into her cheek as she slides a hand into her hair.
"You wanna fuck?" she asks. Jon looks over at her from the other side of the sofa and smiles at her.
"Sure," he chirps. "All you really had to do was ask."
"Even if I want to...y'know, use that strap-on?"
"Spence, especially if you want the strap on," he says, taking another pull off his beer. "Why didn't you ask last night?"
"Well, I kinda thought you, um, wouldn't want to." She shrugs. "Didn't think you were into that."
"I've been into that before, not like I can't get into it again," he reasons. "Besides, weren't you there when Brenna and I--"
"I was drunk off my ass that night and barely remembered anything. Ryanne made it sound like a genderqueer re-enactment of Gone with the Wind, too, so I just decided not to trust her."
"She does that a lot," Jon sighs, scratches at his head. "Of course I'll let you fuck me."
"Good," she nods.
"Good," he says back.
"Fine." She shrugs off her hoodie and undoes the buttons on her pants, shimming her fingers under the hem of her shirt so she can start to work it up her chest and over her head.
"Oh! Wait, I got you something, I just remembered," he says, shooting up. She pauses, her eyes just peeking out of the collar of her shirt. "Where's that new dildo?"
"With the rest of my toys in the pink Barbie case," she says, rolling her eyes as Jon snorts over her endless practicality. "Why?"
"That'd ruin the surprise, now, wouldn't it?" he asks. "I want those jeans off when I get back."
"Since when did you get so bossy?"
"Since you asked me if you could fuck me up the ass, Miss Smith," he teases.
"Oh, fuck you," she barks, standing up and undoing the buttons to her jeans. "For that, I'm keeping the hoodie on and you don't get to touch my boobs."
"I think that hoodie's hot on you, and I can't bring myself to care," he says from the bed. "Now, get over here."
She puts the hoodie back on as her jeans pool around her ankles, zipping it up all the way to her neck before she walks over and finds that he's undoing the buckles on a pretty sweet strap-on harness. It's one of the many she'd overlooked back at the shop, dark red leather that'll look good on her skin and a lace-up back that'll sit wide at the small of her back, a tiny sheriff's star on the front. She grins, runs her fingers over it before unzipping her hoodie and shoving it from her shoulders, only her bra underneath.
"Will you wear it for me?" he asks.
She sits on the bed. "You didn't have to buy that."
"No, I didn't," he says. There's a moment of tension that stretches out between them, but it ends when Spencer puts a hand on Jon's cheek, kisses her thanks. "But I saw it and it reminded me so much of you, I kinda wanted to do it anyway."
"I don't know what to say." She smiles and runs her fingers over the leather. "It's pretty sweet."
"I knew you'd like it." He spreads her kneeling legs on the bed, works the buckles over her hips and shifts and shimmies it over her butt. He's taken her other dildo, the one with the maddening curve that gets at her G, just right and tucked it into the harness, too, so it'll fuck her while she's fucking him, and the only thing she can think of is the fact that this is so par for the course for Jon: all sweet and darling and just plain filthy in his special little way. She doesn't realize she's wet until he's sliding his fingers through her folds, sinking two right in before pressing the dildo in and filling her up with it, drinking in her sharp keen against his lips. She reaches out for his shoulder, catches her fingers in the fabric of his shirt needfully. He kisses her in the briefest of reassurances and adjusts the buckles again afterward, lets the straps hold snug against her thighs, and when she looks down, her cock looks like it always belongs there, rudely pulled through a hole in the coolest underwear she's ever seen.
"Now, we gonna get this show on the road?" he asks, hopefully.
"We will once you get naked," she grins, going back to her trusty caboodle on the other bed, seeking formalities like condoms and lube so this can go smooth once they start. He comes up behind her and kisses her. Enough for her to know, to tell that he's going to really be into this, and not in that skeezy bend-over-boyfriend kind of way, either.
She takes her time, painting him across the bed, not giving up when their make-out tussle almost throws her off the side, or when he presses her down into the bed, licking at her nipples through her bra and insisting he has to christen her cock by sucking it. Her mouth falls open, gently, and she can't stop watching as he sucks down past the head, as he inhales before he takes the shaft into his mouth.
"You look ridiculous that way," she says, leaning up on her elbows.
"If by ridiculous you mean awesome," he returns, looking up at her while he sucks her down again.
"You know I can't feel that," she adds.
"No, Really? You could have fooled me. It's so lifelike," he says, deadpan as he rolls his tongue around the head, like he's trying to memorize the texture, pulling away from her to undo the front-clasp of her bra with his mouth and reach with a free hand for the condom. "You look fuckin' hot."
"Mmm, good," she says, biting her lip and reaching down to kiss him again. "Then you won't mind me fucking you hard."
"Mind?" Jon smiles. "I'll even ask for it. Spencer Smith, will you fuck me? Hard? Hard enough so I wouldn't ever be so foolish as to forget it? Fuck me, Spence, don't make me beg you."
"Goofball."
There are a few experimental changes in position to try and find the best one, and before she knows it, she's stretching him out, three fingers curling and splitting and wiggling to find that one place she's seen Brenna use to get Jon all adorable and urgent-squirmy, breaking him out of his usual state of almost-infuriating calm. She knows she's found it when he clutches at her thigh and his breathing quickens enough for her to know he's 'focused'.
"Keep that up and I'm gonna die," he groans. "Fuck."
"Oh, really?" she asks, pressing her fingers in little circles inside him, rubbing at it a little harder, letting him groan and writhe as if he's confused about whether or not it's a smart choice to let her stay where she is.
"C'mon, Spence. C'mon and fuck me," he croons. "I want it, I'm ready for it."
"If you say so." She pulls her fingers away, repositions him on his back and picks up his knees so his ass lines up in her lap. She positions herself, gently, and sinks right in, watching as he groans, clenching at the sheets and arching his back.
"Jesus," he whispers, and she stays there, watching as his body accepts her until she's bottomed out against him.
"You didn't expect to be taking all that cock, didja?" she asks, ever so perky, rocking into him, watching him keen and sigh.
She knows what she wants of him, won't let herself think about how Brenna must do this, but instead thinks of all the ways Jon's fucked her, staccato rhythms and enough changes in position to make the kama sutra look like swing dancing for nudists. So she starts there, only allowing him to get comfortable and settled in for the long haul every now and then, before deciding that he should turn here, or get on his knees there, or that she wants him pressed up against the bed here. She drives him into the ground. He wraps himself around her, licks at her open mouth as she jackknifes into him, transforms from 'laid back' to 'overpowered' in a way that makes her understand why Brenna likes strap-ons so much.
Spencer's ruthless with him, and with herself, as she keeps going even though she knows a little more stimulation and she'll be coming so hard just thinking of it makes it to much to talk about. She's not paying attention to his steady stream of consciousness, the one that's been telling her just what he thinks, and that he really wants her to touch him, give him the permission to come, how he's leaving it all in her hands.
"Please, I'll do anything. Just fuck me," he groans.
"Sweetheart," she says, saccharine sweet. "I love it how you think that's begging."
He sobs as she picks up her pace once more, one hand on his stomach just above his dick, the other at his thigh, keeping him splayed open. His hands are yearning to touch her, she can tell, but she needs this, finds herself becoming hysterical with the notion that she's going to make him come on her timetable, when and how she wants him.
"I..." he groans.
He doesn't have to say anything more, because she's so close to coming for the third time today that it's nothing for her to reach down and stroke him off.
Jon comes so hard his mouth opens in a silent scream, like heavens have broken themselves wide open-- right down the middle inside him. He's crying out, writhing on Spencer's cock and the sheets. It's almost too funny to be serious, too absurd to be true and Spencer's got half a mind to fuck him right through it and into the next, see how many times Jon can take it, what he'll do when he gets desperate, how he looks when he's been wrung dry.
Instead, she comes, too, her vision whiting out, and her breath hitching before stopping all together to listen to the roaring of the rest of her body in her ears. She's pitched over him, hands surrounding his head, and throwing little tiny thrusts in him even though it makes him hiss.
Fuck, she thinks, a girl could get used to this.
"Jesus, Spence," he says, sobbing to catch his breath.
"You're pretty when you're confused, you know," she replies, pulling out of him and rolling away to lay flat beside him on the bed. They kiss again, slow and sloppy, breaking away with smiles on their faces.
Later, Spencer's going to fuck Jon nice and slow, the way she'd fuck Ryanne, with all the adoration and weight of a best friend with none of the skeez, labored and teasing strokes. She turns the thought over in her head a few times, thinks of kissing him lax until he's wrapped around her, urging her deeper, cradling her and rolling over to present himself so she can take him frustratingly slow until he's complaining--no, begging--for her to go faster. She'll kiss him like it's almost romantic, like she sees her whole future in him. She'll slide down and suck at his cock, just as another thank-you for the wonderful present. And finally, just when she's driven him up and off the wall, she'll settle down and fuck him so hard he'll remember nothing but the feel of her between his thighs for weeks.
But now, all she wants to do is nap. It's not like he's going anywhere.
Hay Guys, Where the hell do I promote this?
Fandom: Bandom- Panic! At the Disco (Now with Added genderswap)
Rating-Pairing: NC-17, Jon Walker/Girl!Spencer Smith
Warnings: Um, Strap-ons? Do I have to warn for that?
Prompt-Notes: Originally written as Comment Porn for Clumsygyrl, Under the idea that Panic At the Disco consists of three girls and Jon Walker. How that's any different from real life is up to you. Still, it's pegging het. Written for the Kink_bingo prompt 'Strap on'. Yes, I used my wild card. What of it, hmm?
Thanks to: Bexone for the original Idea, clumsygyrl for letting it explode all over her journal, and Stephanometra for screaming, flailing, and cleaning up my horrible punctuation.
Disclaimer: Um, I don't own these people. Although if I did, they wouldn't be allowed outside the house...without copious amounts of eye makeup at least. Also, Spencer Smith isn't a girl. Although It'd be helpful to own a Girl!Spencer, who went to check my mail in copious amounts of eye makeup. Hmm, this calls for science.
Summary: The one where Brenna's sick, Ryanne's sick, Jon's Jon, and Spencer's equal parts horny and not happy with the general state of things.
When Spencer takes Jon shopping for a harness, she doesn't realize that she could have just made it on her own. There are a lot of them, all custom made with enough buckles and doo-dads that she can't decide. Jon points out ones made from swaths of leather, that would fit to her hips like a pair of good underwear, but Spencer doesn't want that, not when she could just get the simple, stringy one on the cheap and use the rest of the money to buy another dildo instead. Jon frowns as she buys it, but she insists that she's practical, and all she needs is something to hold a fake dick onto her crotch for a good thirty, forty-five minutes. It's not that big of a deal. She asserts that Jon really has no stake in a problem like this, frankly, because his dick stays on straight without any help.
It's a few stressful, dense days after that. Brenna's sick, Ryanne's on her period, and Jon's Jon, so he doesn't care either goddamn way. She thinks, in a huff, of how she should just go pluck a groupie from backstage, saddle up and ride, but even that seems like too much work right now. She finds herself tossing and turning in her bunk in a huff.
She rolls over again, looks at her new toy, still bundled up in its cylindrical packaging, and reaches for it. She's the kind of woman who breaks in her toys alone, and her new cock can keep her company enough, thank you very much.
She thinks of how it'll look on her the first time it sits on her pelvis and stays there, the long gentle curve of the silicone, the sweet little details at the head. She imagines Ryanne on her knees, running her glossy red lips all over it, trying to see how far down she can go before turning over and raising her ass up as if to ask 'pile drive me, Spence?' in her innocent way. She imagines double-teaming Brenna with Jon right before her vocal warm-up, maybe even asking Ryanne to take one of her toys and slip it into Brenna's open and groaning mouth, see how far that throat, that voice, and that ass could stretch before it breaks. Hell, she even imagines playing the teasing game with Jon, letting her dick rub up against his as they kiss, letting him bend her over and fuck her molasses-slow, the sound of that second cock rubbing against the bed the only sound that matters in the room.
She thinks of complex fantasies of all four of them in puppy pile, not knowing who's in whom, what's where, but before she even gets anywhere too complex, she's already come. The fingers of her free hand are pressing into her clit while she slides the cock in and out at a different rhythm, in a different direction. She strains to keep quiet, rolls over and attempts to groan deep and low into the pillow, but Ryanne's knock from from the bunk above hers is low and annoying.
Ryanne lowers her head down from the top bunk and peers in, watching as Spencer crumples into herself, slowly pulling the dildo away.
"Look, Spence. That was hot. It was, like, really hot and all, but I feel like shit and I'd kinda like to sleep. You think you're done?" Ryanne asks, almost peppy.
"Fuck you, 007," Spencer smiles.
"Take a raincheck, Tracie Lords?"
"Yes. I'm done," Spencer says, clipped but easy. She leans up, pressing a kiss to Ryanne's clammy forehead. "Goodnight. Feel better."
Ryanne grins before she pops back up into her own bunk. " Thanks, I hope I will."
Spencer deflates across her sheets, burrows under her own blankets and hopes that by the time they get to the next hotel, she'll have someone to fuck.
It's days like these that Spencer just. hates. life.
Ryanne and Brenna have obviously traded ailments, and while Brenna's stomping around her room on her usual menstrual tirade of how she hates being a woman and her body is exhibiting all the signs of internal patriarchy, Ryanne has started coughing up things that are remarkably green and hard when she pokes at them while staring at eye level. For some reason, she also feels the need to announce this to the class.
Still, the hotel's a welcome respite from the bus and her bunk, and she's decided that it's best she stays away from the sickness twins on this particular stop, so she shares a room with Jon instead. Jon's quiet and laid-back enough that she wouldn't even be able to find a reason to regret it, not between the old science fiction movies and the fact that Jon has a knack for ordering room service that actually tastes like real food.
After dinner, the room falls somewhat silent. When the Earth Stood Still is playing on the TV screen, but Spencer knows she hasn't been paying attention at all and can't bring herself to care. She presses her lips together, bites into her cheek as she slides a hand into her hair.
"You wanna fuck?" she asks. Jon looks over at her from the other side of the sofa and smiles at her.
"Sure," he chirps. "All you really had to do was ask."
"Even if I want to...y'know, use that strap-on?"
"Spence, especially if you want the strap on," he says, taking another pull off his beer. "Why didn't you ask last night?"
"Well, I kinda thought you, um, wouldn't want to." She shrugs. "Didn't think you were into that."
"I've been into that before, not like I can't get into it again," he reasons. "Besides, weren't you there when Brenna and I--"
"I was drunk off my ass that night and barely remembered anything. Ryanne made it sound like a genderqueer re-enactment of Gone with the Wind, too, so I just decided not to trust her."
"She does that a lot," Jon sighs, scratches at his head. "Of course I'll let you fuck me."
"Good," she nods.
"Good," he says back.
"Fine." She shrugs off her hoodie and undoes the buttons on her pants, shimming her fingers under the hem of her shirt so she can start to work it up her chest and over her head.
"Oh! Wait, I got you something, I just remembered," he says, shooting up. She pauses, her eyes just peeking out of the collar of her shirt. "Where's that new dildo?"
"With the rest of my toys in the pink Barbie case," she says, rolling her eyes as Jon snorts over her endless practicality. "Why?"
"That'd ruin the surprise, now, wouldn't it?" he asks. "I want those jeans off when I get back."
"Since when did you get so bossy?"
"Since you asked me if you could fuck me up the ass, Miss Smith," he teases.
"Oh, fuck you," she barks, standing up and undoing the buttons to her jeans. "For that, I'm keeping the hoodie on and you don't get to touch my boobs."
"I think that hoodie's hot on you, and I can't bring myself to care," he says from the bed. "Now, get over here."
She puts the hoodie back on as her jeans pool around her ankles, zipping it up all the way to her neck before she walks over and finds that he's undoing the buckles on a pretty sweet strap-on harness. It's one of the many she'd overlooked back at the shop, dark red leather that'll look good on her skin and a lace-up back that'll sit wide at the small of her back, a tiny sheriff's star on the front. She grins, runs her fingers over it before unzipping her hoodie and shoving it from her shoulders, only her bra underneath.
"Will you wear it for me?" he asks.
She sits on the bed. "You didn't have to buy that."
"No, I didn't," he says. There's a moment of tension that stretches out between them, but it ends when Spencer puts a hand on Jon's cheek, kisses her thanks. "But I saw it and it reminded me so much of you, I kinda wanted to do it anyway."
"I don't know what to say." She smiles and runs her fingers over the leather. "It's pretty sweet."
"I knew you'd like it." He spreads her kneeling legs on the bed, works the buckles over her hips and shifts and shimmies it over her butt. He's taken her other dildo, the one with the maddening curve that gets at her G, just right and tucked it into the harness, too, so it'll fuck her while she's fucking him, and the only thing she can think of is the fact that this is so par for the course for Jon: all sweet and darling and just plain filthy in his special little way. She doesn't realize she's wet until he's sliding his fingers through her folds, sinking two right in before pressing the dildo in and filling her up with it, drinking in her sharp keen against his lips. She reaches out for his shoulder, catches her fingers in the fabric of his shirt needfully. He kisses her in the briefest of reassurances and adjusts the buckles again afterward, lets the straps hold snug against her thighs, and when she looks down, her cock looks like it always belongs there, rudely pulled through a hole in the coolest underwear she's ever seen.
"Now, we gonna get this show on the road?" he asks, hopefully.
"We will once you get naked," she grins, going back to her trusty caboodle on the other bed, seeking formalities like condoms and lube so this can go smooth once they start. He comes up behind her and kisses her. Enough for her to know, to tell that he's going to really be into this, and not in that skeezy bend-over-boyfriend kind of way, either.
She takes her time, painting him across the bed, not giving up when their make-out tussle almost throws her off the side, or when he presses her down into the bed, licking at her nipples through her bra and insisting he has to christen her cock by sucking it. Her mouth falls open, gently, and she can't stop watching as he sucks down past the head, as he inhales before he takes the shaft into his mouth.
"You look ridiculous that way," she says, leaning up on her elbows.
"If by ridiculous you mean awesome," he returns, looking up at her while he sucks her down again.
"You know I can't feel that," she adds.
"No, Really? You could have fooled me. It's so lifelike," he says, deadpan as he rolls his tongue around the head, like he's trying to memorize the texture, pulling away from her to undo the front-clasp of her bra with his mouth and reach with a free hand for the condom. "You look fuckin' hot."
"Mmm, good," she says, biting her lip and reaching down to kiss him again. "Then you won't mind me fucking you hard."
"Mind?" Jon smiles. "I'll even ask for it. Spencer Smith, will you fuck me? Hard? Hard enough so I wouldn't ever be so foolish as to forget it? Fuck me, Spence, don't make me beg you."
"Goofball."
There are a few experimental changes in position to try and find the best one, and before she knows it, she's stretching him out, three fingers curling and splitting and wiggling to find that one place she's seen Brenna use to get Jon all adorable and urgent-squirmy, breaking him out of his usual state of almost-infuriating calm. She knows she's found it when he clutches at her thigh and his breathing quickens enough for her to know he's 'focused'.
"Keep that up and I'm gonna die," he groans. "Fuck."
"Oh, really?" she asks, pressing her fingers in little circles inside him, rubbing at it a little harder, letting him groan and writhe as if he's confused about whether or not it's a smart choice to let her stay where she is.
"C'mon, Spence. C'mon and fuck me," he croons. "I want it, I'm ready for it."
"If you say so." She pulls her fingers away, repositions him on his back and picks up his knees so his ass lines up in her lap. She positions herself, gently, and sinks right in, watching as he groans, clenching at the sheets and arching his back.
"Jesus," he whispers, and she stays there, watching as his body accepts her until she's bottomed out against him.
"You didn't expect to be taking all that cock, didja?" she asks, ever so perky, rocking into him, watching him keen and sigh.
She knows what she wants of him, won't let herself think about how Brenna must do this, but instead thinks of all the ways Jon's fucked her, staccato rhythms and enough changes in position to make the kama sutra look like swing dancing for nudists. So she starts there, only allowing him to get comfortable and settled in for the long haul every now and then, before deciding that he should turn here, or get on his knees there, or that she wants him pressed up against the bed here. She drives him into the ground. He wraps himself around her, licks at her open mouth as she jackknifes into him, transforms from 'laid back' to 'overpowered' in a way that makes her understand why Brenna likes strap-ons so much.
Spencer's ruthless with him, and with herself, as she keeps going even though she knows a little more stimulation and she'll be coming so hard just thinking of it makes it to much to talk about. She's not paying attention to his steady stream of consciousness, the one that's been telling her just what he thinks, and that he really wants her to touch him, give him the permission to come, how he's leaving it all in her hands.
"Please, I'll do anything. Just fuck me," he groans.
"Sweetheart," she says, saccharine sweet. "I love it how you think that's begging."
He sobs as she picks up her pace once more, one hand on his stomach just above his dick, the other at his thigh, keeping him splayed open. His hands are yearning to touch her, she can tell, but she needs this, finds herself becoming hysterical with the notion that she's going to make him come on her timetable, when and how she wants him.
"I..." he groans.
He doesn't have to say anything more, because she's so close to coming for the third time today that it's nothing for her to reach down and stroke him off.
Jon comes so hard his mouth opens in a silent scream, like heavens have broken themselves wide open-- right down the middle inside him. He's crying out, writhing on Spencer's cock and the sheets. It's almost too funny to be serious, too absurd to be true and Spencer's got half a mind to fuck him right through it and into the next, see how many times Jon can take it, what he'll do when he gets desperate, how he looks when he's been wrung dry.
Instead, she comes, too, her vision whiting out, and her breath hitching before stopping all together to listen to the roaring of the rest of her body in her ears. She's pitched over him, hands surrounding his head, and throwing little tiny thrusts in him even though it makes him hiss.
Fuck, she thinks, a girl could get used to this.
"Jesus, Spence," he says, sobbing to catch his breath.
"You're pretty when you're confused, you know," she replies, pulling out of him and rolling away to lay flat beside him on the bed. They kiss again, slow and sloppy, breaking away with smiles on their faces.
Later, Spencer's going to fuck Jon nice and slow, the way she'd fuck Ryanne, with all the adoration and weight of a best friend with none of the skeez, labored and teasing strokes. She turns the thought over in her head a few times, thinks of kissing him lax until he's wrapped around her, urging her deeper, cradling her and rolling over to present himself so she can take him frustratingly slow until he's complaining--no, begging--for her to go faster. She'll kiss him like it's almost romantic, like she sees her whole future in him. She'll slide down and suck at his cock, just as another thank-you for the wonderful present. And finally, just when she's driven him up and off the wall, she'll settle down and fuck him so hard he'll remember nothing but the feel of her between his thighs for weeks.
But now, all she wants to do is nap. It's not like he's going anywhere.
Hay Guys, Where the hell do I promote this?