Show Time 2/?
anonymous
August 13 2009, 09:52:51 UTC
(Forgot my title in the first one)
-
The hat made him look sharp, sure, but the rest of him? Amazing. Utterly dangerous. Black pleather covered him from the shoulders down. Over his usual white dress shirt, he’d put on some sort of corset, laced up in the back with a neat knot (which was very him, and to match it, a pair of long black gloves, covering hands that began to do my tie around his neck (unlike him, even drunk, to forgo the collar, but by gods did it suit him). My eyes however, were seemingly unable to stay north, and as if pulled by gravity were drawn down to his hips.
I could have wept, that ass looked so fine.
Black shorts stretched seamlessly over perfectly rounded, firm butt. It was as if the ass had been sculpted for me and me alone to be able to reach out and squeeze, feel, rub, and oh god the joy it would be to pound in, between those cheeks. The dim light bounced off them as the moon does off the endless ocean, and I had to exhale hard to keep myself under control when he shifted his weight from one - is that a pair of fuck-me boots? - foot to the other.
But his hips! Oh Jesus, those perfect, smooth hips.
England caught my eyes in one of the three mirrors. I tore mine away to pay attention to his face, and he licked his lips.
I licked mine in response.
He ran a pleather hand down his side, and tilted his head back, pulling his hat over his face a bit while he shook his body from side to side.
I bit the inside of my mouth, trying not to moan.
He grinned, and put his hands behind his head. I saw his face in the mirror, flashing teeth at me. Showing off those fucking canines. Swaying his hips from side to side, with those fucking amazing shorts worshiping his every crevice. Fuck. Fuck, “Arthur”.
He threw a sideways glance to the hapless, powerless, handless hero in the chair, and let his hands knead at that glorious, god’s gift, mind blowing ass in response to his name.
“Arthur...” if my eyes hadn’t already glazed themselves over with lust, my voice had. Dunno if it’s the drugs or the costume or what but god damnit this got me hot.
He then put his hands in front of him, on the mirror, and leaned forward, stretching the lucky plastic over his scones, showing off the goods and giving me a look in the mirror, swaying. I saw every muscle. Every hairless inch of skin between the high boots and the bottom of the shorts. I saw the bulge of his balls from behind, and I saw the pleather stretch over his crack. I saw his muscles tense and relax, and imagined him in that same position, but with the wonderful shorts down around his waist, and my cock foot deep in his ass.
England turned around with a smile, obviously pleased with the mostly hard bulge pressing against the front of my pants, and sauntered up to me, shaking his hips like a true whore of London. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t do anything but look at him. But behold him, in all his godly sensuality.
He mounted the chair, two knees on either side of my legs, hands on my shoulders. His face was close, but when I leaned forward to capture his lips, he moved away.
“Arthur…” it was a question.
“In due time” he replied.
But I want it NOW complained my inner child. England must have either read my face, or I’d spoken my thoughts again, because he raised a gloved finger to my lips, and shushed me, “Don’t worry Alfred,” he whispered, raising his arms above his head and licking the finger he’d just poked me with, “I’ll take good care of you”.
-
Blarrrrg, the sun has come up. Time for me to sleep.
Anon, this is perfect in so many ways. This is exactly what I had in my mind and you described that so VERY WELL. Thank you, thank you, thank you and please continue. Can't wait to see the Arthur's care ...
-
The hat made him look sharp, sure, but the rest of him? Amazing. Utterly dangerous. Black pleather covered him from the shoulders down. Over his usual white dress shirt, he’d put on some sort of corset, laced up in the back with a neat knot (which was very him, and to match it, a pair of long black gloves, covering hands that began to do my tie around his neck (unlike him, even drunk, to forgo the collar, but by gods did it suit him).
My eyes however, were seemingly unable to stay north, and as if pulled by gravity were drawn down to his hips.
I could have wept, that ass looked so fine.
Black shorts stretched seamlessly over perfectly rounded, firm butt. It was as if the ass had been sculpted for me and me alone to be able to reach out and squeeze, feel, rub, and oh god the joy it would be to pound in, between those cheeks. The dim light bounced off them as the moon does off the endless ocean, and I had to exhale hard to keep myself under control when he shifted his weight from one - is that a pair of fuck-me boots? - foot to the other.
But his hips! Oh Jesus, those perfect, smooth hips.
England caught my eyes in one of the three mirrors. I tore mine away to pay attention to his face, and he licked his lips.
I licked mine in response.
He ran a pleather hand down his side, and tilted his head back, pulling his hat over his face a bit while he shook his body from side to side.
I bit the inside of my mouth, trying not to moan.
He grinned, and put his hands behind his head. I saw his face in the mirror, flashing teeth at me. Showing off those fucking canines. Swaying his hips from side to side, with those fucking amazing shorts worshiping his every crevice. Fuck. Fuck, “Arthur”.
He threw a sideways glance to the hapless, powerless, handless hero in the chair, and let his hands knead at that glorious, god’s gift, mind blowing ass in response to his name.
“Arthur...” if my eyes hadn’t already glazed themselves over with lust, my voice had. Dunno if it’s the drugs or the costume or what but god damnit this got me hot.
He then put his hands in front of him, on the mirror, and leaned forward, stretching the lucky plastic over his scones, showing off the goods and giving me a look in the mirror, swaying. I saw every muscle. Every hairless inch of skin between the high boots and the bottom of the shorts. I saw the bulge of his balls from behind, and I saw the pleather stretch over his crack. I saw his muscles tense and relax, and imagined him in that same position, but with the wonderful shorts down around his waist, and my cock foot deep in his ass.
England turned around with a smile, obviously pleased with the mostly hard bulge pressing against the front of my pants, and sauntered up to me, shaking his hips like a true whore of London. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t do anything but look at him. But behold him, in all his godly sensuality.
He mounted the chair, two knees on either side of my legs, hands on my shoulders. His face was close, but when I leaned forward to capture his lips, he moved away.
“Arthur…” it was a question.
“In due time” he replied.
But I want it NOW complained my inner child. England must have either read my face, or I’d spoken my thoughts again, because he raised a gloved finger to my lips, and shushed me, “Don’t worry Alfred,” he whispered, raising his arms above his head and licking the finger he’d just poked me with, “I’ll take good care of you”.
-
Blarrrrg, the sun has come up. Time for me to sleep.
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"his scones"
"his scones"
AAAAHAHAHHA
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We all know Alfred is an ass man a scone man
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nuuuuuuuu, don't sleep yet! you tease
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Anon, this was very sexily written. I love that you wrote this from Alfred's POV. It's smutty and descriptive and just oh so AWESOME.
Then I read this: stretching the lucky plastic over his scones
his scones
I came.
I want to make love to your brain, writer anon. I-I... I want to go to there...
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I should start a blog and just write down everything that happens in there. Bet people would go crazy for it, it's so weird.
...recaptcha is almost my dad's name o_o
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