Watching his cake all the while, he took his now rapidly hardening member in hand and gave a few firm strokes. It looked so good, sitting there, beckoning him to sink into its velvety depths.
He grunted and picked the cake up with one hand, a little unsteadily. He brought it to waist-height and guided his now mindbogglingly hard dick toward it.
The nice, socially conscious part of his brain was frantically trying to talk him down from this cliff. He was Desmond. Sweet, gentle, dorky and sometimes a little awkward... but not this. Not a cake rapist.
However, the throbbing organ in his right hand thought differently. With a decidedly resigned groan, he pushed into the side of the cake.
“Oh, hell. Shitfuckdamn. Oh. Ooooh. That's gooo---oooh,” he drew out on a moan, shuddering at the end of it.
He tried to keep himself quiet, but the feelings were overwhelming. The butter cream icing had coated his cock on the way in. It was smooth and creamy and strangely sticky, but in a way that was extremely pleasant. It warmed around him from his own heat and melted a little, making a delicious slickness.
He began to move against the cake, shifting both hands to clutch it more fully, and to add leverage to his thrusts. He felt a small trickle of sweat form and snake down his back under the effort of his exertions and the heat building on his skin. The experience was singular in his life. The sensation of the fluffy baked cake texture was light and teasing across his member, exerting no pressure at all but simply sliding past him. It ratcheted up his desire another notch, and he began to move exuberantly in and out of the cake.
To his dismay, however, it began to crumble. Pieces began to fall apart and tumble to the concrete at his knees, particularly around his point of entry.
He halted his movements and pulled out with a frustrated sigh.
Desmond contemplated a solution. He could try from the other side of the cake, but it would crumble soon, too. Besides, it didn't have any of the tightness that he wanted. Ultimately, he decided the take matters into his own hands, excuse the bad pun.
He set the cake down gingerly, not wanting it to fall apart any more. He scooted forward on his knees and pulled his dick toward the cake's surface. It made contact with the thick frosting and he let out a strangled moan. He slid over the icing, now frantically attempting to coat his cock and hurry to continue. In one last good measure, Desmond pressed his hand against the cake, leaving a distinct impression in it (to him, it looked like he had spanked the cake and left a hand mark), and smearing his hand with the sugary confection.
It warmed and softened quickly against his hot skin, and he finally took his frosted cock in hand.
Hnnnnng. Oh, damn.
It was incredible.
He slid the tight ring of his hand slowly down the shaft, reveling in the feeling of the slide of the frosting. It was smooth but with a little grab, making a friction that was unbearable.
Desmond quickened his pace, not wanting to delay release any longer.
He felt equal parts irredeemably dirty and uncontrollably turned on. He ran through the words in his head, over and over, chanting his way to completion: cake, fuck yes, cake, soft frosting, oh, yessss, in, more, cake...
With one final rough stroke of his icing coated hand up and then down his cock again, he came, spurting strands of come across the cake now sitting in front of him on the floor. He groaned and double over bowing under the intense pleasure. He let his head fall back, mouth hanging open, trying his best to not moan any louder, and his hands fell limply to his sides.
He hazarded a glance over at the cake, now coated in his seed. The sight was magnificent to him, and his cock managed to twitch appreciatively. However, he was sated for now.
Re: FILLED AGAIN: Cake Rapist (3/4)
Watching his cake all the while, he took his now rapidly hardening member in hand and gave a few firm strokes. It looked so good, sitting there, beckoning him to sink into its velvety depths.
He grunted and picked the cake up with one hand, a little unsteadily. He brought it to waist-height and guided his now mindbogglingly hard dick toward it.
The nice, socially conscious part of his brain was frantically trying to talk him down from this cliff. He was Desmond. Sweet, gentle, dorky and sometimes a little awkward... but not this. Not a cake rapist.
However, the throbbing organ in his right hand thought differently. With a decidedly resigned groan, he pushed into the side of the cake.
“Oh, hell. Shitfuckdamn. Oh. Ooooh. That's gooo---oooh,” he drew out on a moan, shuddering at the end of it.
He tried to keep himself quiet, but the feelings were overwhelming. The butter cream icing had coated his cock on the way in. It was smooth and creamy and strangely sticky, but in a way that was extremely pleasant. It warmed around him from his own heat and melted a little, making a delicious slickness.
He began to move against the cake, shifting both hands to clutch it more fully, and to add leverage to his thrusts. He felt a small trickle of sweat form and snake down his back under the effort of his exertions and the heat building on his skin. The experience was singular in his life. The sensation of the fluffy baked cake texture was light and teasing across his member, exerting no pressure at all but simply sliding past him. It ratcheted up his desire another notch, and he began to move exuberantly in and out of the cake.
To his dismay, however, it began to crumble. Pieces began to fall apart and tumble to the concrete at his knees, particularly around his point of entry.
He halted his movements and pulled out with a frustrated sigh.
Desmond contemplated a solution. He could try from the other side of the cake, but it would crumble soon, too. Besides, it didn't have any of the tightness that he wanted. Ultimately, he decided the take matters into his own hands, excuse the bad pun.
He set the cake down gingerly, not wanting it to fall apart any more. He scooted forward on his knees and pulled his dick toward the cake's surface. It made contact with the thick frosting and he let out a strangled moan. He slid over the icing, now frantically attempting to coat his cock and hurry to continue. In one last good measure, Desmond pressed his hand against the cake, leaving a distinct impression in it (to him, it looked like he had spanked the cake and left a hand mark), and smearing his hand with the sugary confection.
It warmed and softened quickly against his hot skin, and he finally took his frosted cock in hand.
Hnnnnng. Oh, damn.
It was incredible.
He slid the tight ring of his hand slowly down the shaft, reveling in the feeling of the slide of the frosting. It was smooth but with a little grab, making a friction that was unbearable.
Desmond quickened his pace, not wanting to delay release any longer.
He felt equal parts irredeemably dirty and uncontrollably turned on. He ran through the words in his head, over and over, chanting his way to completion: cake, fuck yes, cake, soft frosting, oh, yessss, in, more, cake...
With one final rough stroke of his icing coated hand up and then down his cock again, he came, spurting strands of come across the cake now sitting in front of him on the floor. He groaned and double over bowing under the intense pleasure. He let his head fall back, mouth hanging open, trying his best to not moan any louder, and his hands fell limply to his sides.
He hazarded a glance over at the cake, now coated in his seed. The sight was magnificent to him, and his cock managed to twitch appreciatively. However, he was sated for now.