[ Her body accepts the metal plug as if she's made to do it, shiny and perfect against her skin. Giles rubs his thumb lightly over the pink heart-shaped jewel, then pushes it in a little deeper, ignoring the way she shudders and pleads with him. She'll get what she wants, Daddy's good girl, but she has to learn to wait for it, though it's as much a torture for himself as it is for her.
When she leans herself over the counter, he moves his hand from the plug to her ass cheek, spreading her a little to allow him to see everything. She's all soft skin, shades of dusky rose, glistening wet in a way that has nothing to do with her shower. His free hand is at his belt and undoing his fly before he knows it, though he doesn't do more than loosen things up, despite the way she moves back and forth. ]
Buffy. Look at you.
[ Awed, loving. He reaches up to take hold of her wrists, because she's got a good idea there -- she's small enough that he can stretch his hand and hold onto both of them at once -- and crouches down in the same movement, keeping his other hand spread wide over her ass cheek, all on show for him. No secrets; he knows and loves every inch of her body.
Gently, he kisses her skin, the curve of her backside, moving inwards. He dares to lick his tongue over the wetness of her cunt, lightly at first, enjoying the delicate salt and mineral taste. Then again, more firmly, lapping across her folds like he used to do to her mother. Joyce would clamp her thighs tight around his head and curse and writhe every time he did, delighted and wild, pulling on his hair and clothes. Buffy is an unanswered question, an unexplored territory, so he's more careful -- at least, at first. It doesn't take long until he's licking and sucking at her in earnest, his other hand keeping her pressed against the counter as he pushes his tongue between her inner lips, burying his face against her to lick over her clit again and again. ]
no subject
When she leans herself over the counter, he moves his hand from the plug to her ass cheek, spreading her a little to allow him to see everything. She's all soft skin, shades of dusky rose, glistening wet in a way that has nothing to do with her shower. His free hand is at his belt and undoing his fly before he knows it, though he doesn't do more than loosen things up, despite the way she moves back and forth. ]
Buffy. Look at you.
[ Awed, loving. He reaches up to take hold of her wrists, because she's got a good idea there -- she's small enough that he can stretch his hand and hold onto both of them at once -- and crouches down in the same movement, keeping his other hand spread wide over her ass cheek, all on show for him. No secrets; he knows and loves every inch of her body.
Gently, he kisses her skin, the curve of her backside, moving inwards. He dares to lick his tongue over the wetness of her cunt, lightly at first, enjoying the delicate salt and mineral taste. Then again, more firmly, lapping across her folds like he used to do to her mother. Joyce would clamp her thighs tight around his head and curse and writhe every time he did, delighted and wild, pulling on his hair and clothes. Buffy is an unanswered question, an unexplored territory, so he's more careful -- at least, at first. It doesn't take long until he's licking and sucking at her in earnest, his other hand keeping her pressed against the counter as he pushes his tongue between her inner lips, burying his face against her to lick over her clit again and again. ]