[It doesn't take long to reduce Billy to nothing but grunts and pants, half-hearted complaints and more sincere needy whines. It doesn't take much either; he's always liked watching a girl ride him. Liked the way they would bounce on his dick, the way they might lose themselves chasing their own pleasure: it's different with Steve. Steve's making a point, he thinks. Steve's giving him a taste of that old competitive nature that made him so popular.
Billy's half in love already, he might be the other way there by the end of this.
Still, there's a point - a point where he's gritting his teeth, forcing his hips to stay slow, or still, where he twitches under her hands, itching to grab and touch. He distracts himself with kissing her, and its enough until it isn't. The little aggressions set his blood hot, awaken that thing inside of him that likes to be mean, that likes to win.
But he can ask nicely, first. He can be her good boy.] Let me touch you, Stevie. Let me, please.
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Billy's half in love already, he might be the other way there by the end of this.
Still, there's a point - a point where he's gritting his teeth, forcing his hips to stay slow, or still, where he twitches under her hands, itching to grab and touch. He distracts himself with kissing her, and its enough until it isn't. The little aggressions set his blood hot, awaken that thing inside of him that likes to be mean, that likes to win.
But he can ask nicely, first. He can be her good boy.] Let me touch you, Stevie. Let me, please.