Chris Is Writing 📝

ALT He tugs my hair out of its ponytail, which is shot all to hell at this point anyway, then slips the hair tie around my wrist. “Suck my cock.” My hands grip his thighs, and I wrap my lips around him. Despite never having bottom surgery, his dick’s about three inches. Give or take. T had been really good to him, giving him hair in all the right places, a deep voice I love hearing, and a cock that feels amazing in my mouth. Running his fingers through my hair, he grabs hold of it, pressing my face in between his legs. I moan and hum and trace my fingers over his cunt, drawing obscene noises from him. He’s wetter than normal, and I realize he and Kenny must’ve spent some quality time of their own together because Laith smells like both of them—their colognes, their sweat, the tangy reminder of their tumble in the sheets. He’s always delicious—musky and sweet—but the earthy bite of Kenny blended with Laith’s own unique flavor is something else entirely, and I eagerly lap them both up.