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"Come on now, girl." Smoke pants, sweat glistening like stars on his skin. August summer. Bleeding heat. The magic that comes from two bodies feeding on each other, sustaining one another. It fills Annie up, fills her good. "I know you know how to get me off," Smoke continues, head lolling loose, kiss-drunk and smoldering. "Stop playin'."
They've been going like this for hours, with Smoke strapped to the kitchen chair, his legs spread wide, his hands tied behind his back with Annie on his lap. Her bare cunt smearing slick on his thighs as she pumps him lazily in her hands, stopping when he gets too excited. His orgasm is right there, just under his skin. All he needs is that extra little push but she refuses to give it to him.
"Annie." He rests his head on her shoulder. A soft, tired man, taking comfort in her soft and tired body. "Please."
"One more Elijah." She kisses the crown of his head, holding him close. "You think you can do that?" Annie tilts his chin up. "For me?"
And shit, the lord ain't never done nothin' good for him before except bring Annie into this world. He's a sinning man, everyone knows it. But he could never say no to her. It's the one line that he'll never cross. He whimpers something pathetic, something vulnerable, because he knows that he can trust her with it. "Yeah-yeah." He sucks a mark into her skin, drawing his lips down her clavicle, to her breasts. "Yeah baby, I can."
She tightens her fist, making him jump. Making his cock weep slick down her wrist. They're a mess, the two of them. Sticky with sweat and pleasure. The stink of summer time.
"That's it baby," She rocks against him, grinding her body into his, the curve of his dick swelling against her thighs. The chair creaks, just barely keeping them both upright. "Give it to me." He cums with a gasp. The broken hallelujah of a man pleasured, a man loved, and she's quick to grab a jar from the table nearby, catching his seed in the quarter filled jar, the milky white slipping down the sides of the glass.
"What's it for?" He asks later, an arm tossed over his brow. Reclining on their soft blankets with a glass of ice water held loosely in his hand. The ice clinks softly as he turns to her. "Annie?"
"Old man George from the town over," She explains. "He's got himself a young new bride from the City. She wants a family."
"Woman, what?" He sits up, brows scrunching. "You can't just be givin' my seed away to some other-"
"I'm not," Annie laughs, pouring the jar of spunk into a pot of soil. "I'm using it to grow them a Mandrake."
"A man-what?"
"It's a root," She explains. "Once it sprouts, old man George will have to take care of it. When it flowers, he can have kids of his own."
Smoke lays back down, mutterin' to himself. Cursing and shaking his head. "You should really warn a man, before you use his spunk like that."