chan who fucks your cunt with his fingers in the mirror after you tell him you have low self esteem. he’d assure you that you’re absolutely gorgeous and so unbelievably deserving of love, but if you really just can’t get it, he has no problem showing you.
so now, legs spread so pretty for him in front of your mirror, he takes his time tracing your folds, fingers toying with your sensitive clit while you twitch in between his legs.
he would force you to watch yourself, watch his veiny hands trail down, big fingers massaging the skin of your thighs before delving into your wetness and staying there, not moving.
you’re losing your mind, so needy for him you can’t think straight. clawing at his forearm, you choke a mewl, locking eyes with him through your reflection.
predatory, predatory as he stares back at you, gaze flitting down to your stretched cunt then to your eyes again like he could swallow you whole. you think you’d be okay with that right now.
“chan- chris- move, i need you to move..” you breathe shallowly, head leaning back against his shoulder to cry a broken moan as as he moved, rubbing your gummy walls just enough until-
“fuckkk.” you drawl out, seconds away from tears. what he wants you’re not sure, maybe to watch you beg. you’d be willing.
“look. look at yourself and,” other hand forcing your head forward to watch him disappear in your shamelessly drooling cunt, he presses his tongue against his teeth, feeling as overwhelmed as you from the sight and sounds alone.
“tell me you aren’t the prettiest thing in the fucking universe, ‘made for me my love,” he voices, thumb sneaking up to your chin to find its way in your mouth, pressing on your tongue to admire the glossiness of your eyes—dissolving into the pleasure he provides.
“oh oh shit yes, yes, yes.” delicately littering the skin below your ear with open-mouthed kisses, the way your moans become higher pitched tell him you’re not far from release, calling out his name like a mantra.
your head falls back against his shoulder, nearly screaming as thunderous waves of euphoria pass through you, setting your veins ablaze with electricity. he stays there, perched right against your neck, whispering praises as if he didn’t have you crying his name.
“now,” he quietly uttered, soaking up your mewl when he pulled out, fingers drenched in your essence and chest shaking to catch your breath.
just then, you feel it, the painfully apparent tent in his sweats.
“what’re we gonna do about this, hm?”
