“It wouldn't matter if they’re wrinkled if you ripped them off me,” I tease. I might have envisioned pulling the neckline of my blouse down, tearing a couple buttons off in the process, but his way is endearing. I definitely would have just kicked them off onto the floor.
He gives me a little chuckle in return. “Is that what you want?”
“I may budget for...shredding,” I start to say, falling into a seat on the bed; I catch sight of him beginning to undress and my tongue doesn’t know how to do anything speech related anymore.
I could watch Vladyr unbutton his suit all day. As impatient as I was to get down into his room with him, now that I’m here I’m happy to make time to just watch this. Lounging on his bed, I realize I’ve never really seen the appeal of a strip tease before, but maybe that’s because they’re usually missing the untouchable, unruffleable quality Vlad embodies so perfectly. I'm so caught up in the practiced motion of his hands I almost entirely miss the way he rolls his shoulders and wings, shrugging out of his shirt and suit jacket in one motion. I definitely don't catch whatever fabric mechanism is there to work with his wings so flawlessly.
I'm sure I'll satisfy my curiosity about how one tailors a suit to fit around a gargoyle's wings and tail when I watch him get dressed later. Right now, there are other things to satisfy.
My hands are twisting the sheets on his bed just so I can keep them to myself, and sort of tether my body in place. I feel a little like I’m underwater, or in a sauna, at my heat fully takes over, and I become immersed in it. It burns at my cheeks as the need to be touched, to be roughly handled and fucked into tomorrow until I can’t hold myself up anymore eclipses every other sensation. I think if I just let myself exist in this moment unleashed, I’ll just leap onto him and start grinding my hips against whatever is closest. So much is riding on the hotel’s cheap thread count sheets.
Then his pants come undone, pushed down just far enough, and my eyes widen. Forget wings and tails, I want to know how his tailor works the fabric of time and space to makethatmonster hide.
I have girlbossed too close to the sun.
That's not going to fit in me. It can't. There's no way. Maybe I just thought I could flirt with the big gargoyle, and it wouldn't end with me being absolutely demolished, but I'm starting to think I was wrong.
The easy thing about long cocks is that there’s only so deep they can go, considering my vaginal canal is probably at max five inches deep. But girth, you can quickly go wrong. One inch diameter? Meh. Two inches? Big girl games. Three? Getting concerned but it's still physically possible, I think. And we’re at a wrong enough point that I’m seriously wondering, if I am going to have to dilate my cervix for this. I don’t know how to do that.
Even from a distance of maybe like three feet away, the math isn’t working for me. He’s bigger than any of my toys and possibly my limits.
Rationally, I know that. Physically, my body has not gotten the memo. I’ve graduated from trying not to dry hump the bedding while I’m waiting to just not being obvious about it.
I've been staring too long, a sort of distress inching into my expression, no doubt. I look at Vladyr, trying not to convey alarm, exactly, but maybe concern.
Concern is definitely what he's looking back at me with.
I swallow. “Maybe we could start with...some fingering or something.”
Then again, his hands are also massive. I did not think this through enough in terms of, like, sheer logistics.
But then something in his face shifts; that stoic look that I could easily mistake for being impassive has begun to make me feel warm and watched over. Like nothing bad could happen while I’m under the reach of his wings.
“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling his belt out from his dress pants in a clean motion that sends a little zing of excitement through me.
I move to the edge of the bed, tucking my heels under me as I come to about eye level with the insane bulge in his boxer briefs and the thick trail of dense little curls that leads down his navel.
I watch him pull his cock out, unbelievably thick at the base, moving from the bluish hue of his stone to the leathery, purple, almost pinkish, still really thick tip. The patterning on his skin reminds me of pink malachite. There’s a row of little bumps down the center of it, that snag on his thumb as he strokes himself for me; I can only imagine what they’ll feel like coming in and out of me. I watch, greedily, as he gives his cock a few tugs, the way it just barely fits in his massive hand, the way the skin stretches and pulls with each stroke, the faint pulse of the veins that twine up the glorious length of it. Even hard, the sheer mass of it struggles against gravity.
The need pulsing between my thighs feels like it should be enough to make me climax, but the threshold for what will tip me over the edge has been supernaturally pushed back by my cycle. I try not to whine with just how needy and utterly empty my cunt feels right now, unabashedly rocking my hips against my ankles.
It’s not until I open my mouth to speak, I realize I’ve been pressing my tongue hard against the back of my teeth this entire time. I swallow and offer a quiet, “May I?”
I don’t know why I feel like I need to ask permission to touch him, just that he is always so perfectly pressed in his suits, not a line or fold or wrinkle out of place. Seeing him with his shirt unbuttoned, parted like curtains to reveal the dark wisps of marbling down his stone abdomen, makes me feel reverent.
He traces a finger under my jaw, tipping my chin upward to look him in the face. At this angle, I’m a little surprised I can make eye contact still, with his chest almost eclipsing my view.
There’s a quiet vulnerability in his eyes, and I remember, just for a second, that time I bumped into him at the airport, how he’d said his immaculately tailored suit was his most comfortable.
Vladyr gives me a small nod, and I let out a whimper as I press my mouth to the tip of his cock. He’s just soft enough in all the spaces that matter.
He strokes my hair gently as I drag my lips, my tongue, up and down the length of him, hard and hot and ready. I take the tip into my mouth, warming up my jaw, and he hisses in pleasure.
I take in more, greedily, as much as I can, my enamels be damned, and use my hands for what I can’t fit in my mouth. I slide my hands up his thunderous thighs, cupping and stroking his sack with one hand and running my fingers up and down the base of his cock, tracing the veins. Within moments I find what I’m looking for. I tease the little bumps down the center of his shaft, his cock twitches against the roof of my mouth and the sound of him trying to hold back a groan fills the room.
I can’t get enough of every little reaction, his heavy breaths, the way he shifts his hips, his wings twitching and his tail flicking involuntarily. I save every little movement and sound from him, wanting to preserve it in my memory forever.
The muscles in my jaw ache from how big he is in my mouth; how heavy he is against my tongue. I don't know how much longer I can do this for, with this much.
