[It's a race. L knows as he struggles to catch his breath, gather his strength, pull himself together so that he can pick up where he left off. But the nervous system is comprised of enough electricity that it's a little more complicated than just willing it; one moment, he's too weak to push himself up; the next, he has the strength, but only in his legs.
He senses movement in his peripheral vision. If his lips were able to form words, yet, they would curse, because the SQUIP is beating him. His shoulder blades stab into the floor, his inhalation is ragged and resentful as the machine drags him up by his unruly hair to push its cock into a slack and utterly vulnerable mouth.
He gags, nearly chokes. His throat tries to close and reject the intrusion, and there's a moment of blank panic, desperate grasping for recourse. It takes the form of reaching for purchase, grasping one of the SQUIP's well-muscled ass-cheeks, and creeping two long fingers towards a cleft and an opening (perhaps the original goal), plunging and pressing.
If the SQUIP has an issue with it, perhaps it should reflect on the mercy that is its drunk partner not biting while he's being face-fucked.]
no subject
He senses movement in his peripheral vision. If his lips were able to form words, yet, they would curse, because the SQUIP is beating him. His shoulder blades stab into the floor, his inhalation is ragged and resentful as the machine drags him up by his unruly hair to push its cock into a slack and utterly vulnerable mouth.
He gags, nearly chokes. His throat tries to close and reject the intrusion, and there's a moment of blank panic, desperate grasping for recourse. It takes the form of reaching for purchase, grasping one of the SQUIP's well-muscled ass-cheeks, and creeping two long fingers towards a cleft and an opening (perhaps the original goal), plunging and pressing.
If the SQUIP has an issue with it, perhaps it should reflect on the mercy that is its drunk partner not biting while he's being face-fucked.]