Now, now. It's exactly 12nn when I saw this, lovely. The middle of the day and you're making me a whore?? You've done it....
Quinn is just too horny. You two can be waking up from a midafternoon nap and he's already pulling your ass against his hard on, whimpering and begging for a fuck, grinding against your tiny cotton shorts his hands trying to push the crotch to the side to get to your pussy, making a mess on himself from his pre-cum and your arousal. He's doing that even when you're doing the dishes or laundry. His horny ass will grind and beg while basically dry humping you. He's so insatiable. Always ready to fuck at any hour of the day.
He keeps making excuses that he's just bored. Well, he is. He just can't help it, especially when you're so enticing no matter what you're doing.
So when you're just scrolling through your social media, your legs propped up on the arm of the couch which makes your shorts--with cute strawberries and bears--ride up your thighs, exposing the crease where your hips meet your thighs, his blood ignites, his cock rousing.
When he touches your thighs, you immediately know what he wanted, immediately know how horny he is because he's tenting and staining his gray sweatpants. Quinn expects your pussy on his dick, but you smirk and orders him to kneel.
Quinn thinks he can't get any harder but he does. His cock aches so much. He basically scrambles to the floor, panting when you sit with your legs spread wide for him. His mind is going feral at the hint of your lace panties. He just wants to smell your pussy. Wants to lick along the seam of your shorts until you're soaked with your arousal and his saliva.
Quinn fucks his hand roughly, spitting on himself to ease the friction, chasing his release. He wants to come. He needs to come. He can't fucking take it. Something's missing. Something--
Then you say the words that have his pre-cum dripping from his slit, turning his brain into haywire.
"Such a good boy. Fuck your hand like you want to fuck my pussy. Oh, yes, harder, Quinny. You can come anytime you want. You deserve it."
Good. Boy. He curses over and over in his head, the corner of his lips tugging up into a smile. You called him good boy. He is your good boy. Always. For you.
Quinn's already so fucking gone, squeezing around his dick, swiping his thumb over his sensitive slit. Getting more and more desperate as he freely moans, so vocal for like he's trying to lure you in. How it would feel so good to sink into your cunt. He wants that so badly.
He tries to come closer to you, but your foot lands on his shoulder, pushing him away. He's a whining mess. He just wants to smell you, your pussy. He wants to have a taste of you and nothing but you. He needs to. His eyes lock on the growing wet patch on your thin shorts.
He grips your ankle, anchoring himself, pleading his need, declaring his pending damnation. He's gonna come. So fucking hard. He looks up at your eyes, begging for more and more.
You oblige, "Just let go, baby. Be good boy for me."
The way you emphasize your praise is what fucked him over. He comes in strong spurts, making a mess on his shirt. Cum hits his chin but he doesn't fucking care because you reach, your hands wrapping around his cock, milking and drawing out every drop of cum from him.
All while you whisper, "That's my good boy."
Look what you made me do, lovely. The weather is scalding my bones. This whore thought is making me want to shower again. I need him so bad.
