[ Gold like his stupid little chain - unlike Richie, he doesn't actually wear a crucifix anymore, but it's still a heavy weight in his soul, the kind of upbringing that makes kneeling and penitence familiar. He tongues the silicone, tries not to think about where else a toy in the public kink club might have been. Nose wrinkling just a little.
He really, really wants to be good at this, though — to hold her attention for as long as she's give it to him, even if (especially if) it's demeaning. The fact that he has no idea what he's doing kind of only adds to it, Carmy's bratty arrogance only kicks in when he's confident. Right now he's out of his depth and she's the only guide he has.
He strips out of his tshirt, jeans, briefs, folds them all neatly, dick bobbing between his legs as he puts them down. Comes back and kneels for her, right in front of her dangling stiletto. Hands open palmed on his muscular thighs because he doesn't know what else to do with them. Like a horse he's fit and beautiful and mostly oblivious to it — he works out because he has to in order to survive his own thoughts, ans because it makes long hours in the kitchen easier.
He looks at her a little quizzically, anticipatory, but he still holds the cockring in his mouth, with his teeth at the moment, so he doesn't try to talk. Still, he's wondering why she needs the gloves, filthy possibilities playing through his mind like a porno on fast forward. ]
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[ Gold like his stupid little chain - unlike Richie, he doesn't actually wear a crucifix anymore, but it's still a heavy weight in his soul, the kind of upbringing that makes kneeling and penitence familiar. He tongues the silicone, tries not to think about where else a toy in the public kink club might have been. Nose wrinkling just a little.
He really, really wants to be good at this, though — to hold her attention for as long as she's give it to him, even if (especially if) it's demeaning. The fact that he has no idea what he's doing kind of only adds to it, Carmy's bratty arrogance only kicks in when he's confident. Right now he's out of his depth and she's the only guide he has.
He strips out of his tshirt, jeans, briefs, folds them all neatly, dick bobbing between his legs as he puts them down. Comes back and kneels for her, right in front of her dangling stiletto. Hands open palmed on his muscular thighs because he doesn't know what else to do with them. Like a horse he's fit and beautiful and mostly oblivious to it — he works out because he has to in order to survive his own thoughts, ans because it makes long hours in the kitchen easier.
He looks at her a little quizzically, anticipatory, but he still holds the cockring in his mouth, with his teeth at the moment, so he doesn't try to talk. Still, he's wondering why she needs the gloves, filthy possibilities playing through his mind like a porno on fast forward. ]