moritat | Victorian weenie au

That's as good as listening.

And with his multitasking kisses and finger-fucking a recent divorcée, and the near miss of servants catching them, that ends things. She quietly loses it. As in she breaks off from the sloppy kiss and down, upper shoulders thumping wood, her spine arches and seizes up.

Clapping over her mouth is all that spares them an awkward conversation about why Miss Vasquez is coming with her doctor's fingers jammed up in her.

...Gynecological exam? That would be a good excuse, right?

Just because she's done doesn't mean he stops right away. That wouldn't be very kind, anyway, to just stop all of a sudden! Instead he eases off, only once he's entirely certain she really is finished. Kissing her cheek, he whispers confessions of love into her ear.

THEN ONLY ONE OF THEM SHOULD GET UNDRESSED

God bless him and his generosity, helping her ride it for as long as possible. Their only time together, a long while ago on the East End, seems so rushed and slapdash by comparison. If they just had more time ...

Her eyes open to black slits, turning on the floor to lick him full on the mouth. "I love you, let me, let me show ..." He can hear it solely because of his proximity. Nobody may overhear. Her grip settles onto his underpants and sees to sliding them off.

It's another matter when attentions are turned to him. That's - well that's unnecessary, isn't it? She doesn't need to do anything for him, he's gross, he'll taint her with how gross he is!!! What a bad man. But he does so desperately want her, he can't protest. Besides, doing so might call attention.

That lick was also a bit distracting, it's not every day someone outright licks you on the mouth. He can hardly finish reacting to it before his pants are gone and he's left kneeling there fully exposed. But he expects that if anything, she'll just use her hand. That's...maybe not so bad. It could be worse, anyway. It could be proper intercourse, or something perverse - like what he just did. Terribly, ungodly sins.

Gone is relative. Paloma's happy just getting them low enough to not obstruct her, leaving them bunched above his knees. It's well enough.

Luck be with Henry, fangs don't protrude as her lips part. Exceptional luck when she's turned and slithered onto her belly, wrapping just one hand around the base of him and pushing herself a small ways up with the other; what can it be but lucky, what with taking the whole length into her mouth? Ha ha no gag reflex

Oh - oh no this is already shaping up to be The Best Blowjob Ever™, how can she do that, especially without easing into it?! His face flushes deep scarlet, spine jolts and seems to lock in place. But will she really be okay, she's going to choke, oh good god, what is he going to do, he has to clamp a hand over his mouth just to muffle himself already, how can he tell her not to choke?! The people outside will definitely, absolutely hear if he tries to say anything...!!! "Paloma," it's nothing more than a wheeze, barely audible through his hand. But there's nothing to say it's for anything more than pleasure.

She's going to choke and it's going to be his fault because he's the sort of terrible man who wants to shove his dick down a lady's throat!! Who would take advantage of said lady being in a vulnerable situation, too! Who forces his lust on her time and again! He's going to have to hide another body and it's going to be someone he loves, at that. Naturally, the more he panics, the more he's into it. But also, the more tears well up in his eyes, until they have no choice but to spill over.

See, for a while, she takes his panicking to mean this is some excellent work. And wheezing her name like every breath is hard-won! The ultimate compliment. Her lashes flutter, and smug, Paloma shapes her tongue to the underside of his dick as she withdraws almost in full. That lasts all of two seconds before her mouth slides down the shaft again with no regard for that little thing called breathing.

"Mmmhmm?" Been a couple years-- she's not got a load of experience under her belt, precisely, but sucking a man off requires no degree in high sex education. This is how it's done, yes??

She has no idea he's starting to cry.

Oh, it is some excellent work, and that's half the problem! There's a single beat of relief in his heart when she pulls back, but it's gone with a sharp gasp just as quickly, and followed by fingers tangling into her hair. But the tremor that starts in his body comes from his shoulders, as tears turn to sobs that he has to keep quiet.

As far as she knows, it's only returning the magnificent favor he'd done her. What problem could there be?

But Paloma's head bobs just once, twice, and halfway down her third she dares a peek up at his eyes. The distress waiting shocks her off of his dick, letting go of it with a positively filthy pop from her lips.

"Harry?" As soundlessly as she can manage his name in a query. She stares, neck craned, from the same spot on the ground.

Oh thank god, she stopped, she isn't going to choke?! But it doesn't help him stop his pathetic weeping, and now she's looking at him and he feels he has to hide his face. He buries his face in both hands, sobbing into his palms.

She should be used to him getting off and crying in tandem by now. They're one and the same.

dick still rock hard tho

Of course it's still hard!! Look at it, all wet and glistening!!

Her heart seizes, clenches from the enormity of seeing him break down like this. Paloma can't leave him be. She pushes to sit upright, slipping her hands around his, pulling them away to allow for their noses smushed together--

"Love?"

No he'd rather not look at it.......

He'd also rather not look at her, it's like looking at all the terrible things he's done and he wants to cry all the more for seeing her beautiful face in the midst of it! "I'm sorry-" It's maybe a little too loud, until he muffles himself again by wrapping his arms around her and dropping his head to rest in her collar. Just another way to hide his face.

Her poor weenie and his sad, bereft weenie. Paloma puts that out of mind and embraces him tightly, to perhaps help him feel secure, and wanted even if she doubts that's the issue. She'd thought she demonstrated the opposite rather vividly.

Murmuring directly into his ear, she smooths the hair down at his nape. "Do you wish for me to stop touching ...?"

How can he answer that question...he definitely doesn't want to sit in the discomfort of getting so worked up but not actually getting off. He absolutely wants her to touch him. But he also is definitely going to feel more and more guilty. It's a fitting punishment if he doesn't get the satisfaction, right? Maybe he can be forgiven then.

All he can really do in response is shake his head while latching onto her even more.

It's a pathetic state of affairs. Hyde is so done with this shit.

Paloma--

Isn't completely sure what he means.

So long as there's room for doubt, her hands and mouth stay where they are. The man can cling for whatever length of time he must. Poor repressed Henry Jekyll. She kisses his brow.

"No, I may? No, no more?"

Her shoulder and chest are going to be awfully wet.

Having to clarify, he can't really decide which he meant by it still. He feels badly for her having to put up with this. It's one thing when he cries with some one night stand or prostitute, he can just leave, or they're being paid so it's fine to ride it out.

"...You may." It can't get any worse, he's already disgusting! Might as well finish the job. Fingers twist in her hair and the strings tying her corset together. He isn't about to stop clinging, though.

He says that, but still she frets. She sits back onto her feet and regards him with the utmost solemnity before taking his face up between impossibly gentle palms.

"I am happy to. But you are not happy, love. We do not need to."

But he is, and he wants to, that's the problem!

"Please forgive me." Does he mean for crying and interrupting her, or for wanting sex in the first place? The answer is both, and that's why he can't look her in the eye.

Just get rid of this trash.

She kisses him on the mouth, feather-light and startlingly chaste. Only then do her hands drop from Jekyll.

And still she smiles, hoping to show the good will he hasn't impugned. Certainly they are a mess, and have made a mess, but that's all this is. A mess they can work on. "Nothing needs my forgiving. Ah ... we should, ahh, dress?"

Lord, her bloomers will smell strange under the heaviness of those skirts. Paloma picks at the wet slit of it absently.

"...Have they gone?" Is it safe to go out, and to speak?

His own hands still want to seek her out in some way, any at all. Those moments of being comforted and looked after have spoiled him. Paloma isn't warm, and yet she is. There's also the matter of his blueballs, and at least having some intimacy might help to ease that off... Maybe. It's better than not, anyway.

Paloma listens for chatter, footsteps, other telltale signs, but the group has moved on. "Yes."

Holding him again comes as a natural instinct. She latches on torso to torso, where she can tuck under his chin and he can cry it out without somebody staring. As for his neglected dingus... it gets squeezed between their bodies. So, temporarily forgotten, but there is a resolution.

Is that really a resolution? He chooses to put it out of mind. Which is not so easy to actually do. But he can tuck his chin over her head, to hold her close.

"I am sorry, truly. For everything. You deserve much better, always! I came to apologise, and yet I need to do so yet again..." Of course, he's such a weenie that he keeps crying all the while.

The man's got it into his head that he's done her a disservice while Paloma only wants to know how she can help him see. See her willingness, the excitement more than the shame of nearly rutting like dogs.

Her eyes lower from maidenly guilt at the obscenity of that thought. "But it was lovely. You are lovely. Kind, too." She really ought to be kind to him as well. Ladylike little fingers seek out what dangles from his trousers and encircle it.

That's because the worry is more selfish than he'd like to say. For not wanting to appear any less than perfect. Not so much an apology as please forget I have imperfections.

But he wouldn't even be able to get his pants back on if that obscene hardon stayed, so how can he protest the help. It's appropriate really, it's all the more pathetic and like him to be sitting on the floor of a washroom, crying while being jerked off. His fingers find her hair again, though this time to stroke rather than violently tangle up within it.

A fair hand more encouraging, given his emotional state. Although this would've ended sooner if she used her mouth, this will do him fine. Lubricant's easy to come by so as not to hurt him with unpleasant friction. A slick palm's good enough for anyone!

Paloma forgets caution about where the mess will end up. With his dick trapped between them, and her curled over it ...

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