We'll be here all night if I'm to go over everything. Though it is tempting.
Most important to note is that there is no logical rhyme or reason to it— what gets the proverbial horses running could be anything, innocuous or alluring, it makes no difference. Ergo, any portion of the body is fair game. Anything you can imagine, in any nigh conceivable situation, is likely irresistible to someone.
And it goes without saying one can service said someone with all those mundane crevices— even the ones you wouldn't think only require a little creativity. A flattened palm to act as a bracket in a pinch [hah] whilst rutting against a stomach or a shoulder or a neck, or a couple of bound limbs.
Ah and never discount the simple novelty of those that adore mundane objects used on knees or wrists, cunts or cocks. [Strange, how this feels like deja vu despite never having had this conversation— or anything like it before. He's told no one of his trade unless it was demanded of him, and yet as he pens this down he has to check to shake the overwhelming notion that he has discussed this with Fenris. Perched atop a settee in a warm room by firelight, but—
Some remnant of some spice-wine laced dream, no doubt.]
Not in the way you might be picturing, either: just a few strokes of a hairbrush and a little filthy talk or panting, and off they go into blinding bliss— no intercourse required.
no subject
We'll be here all night if I'm to go over everything. Though it is tempting.
Most important to note is that there is no logical rhyme or reason to it— what gets the proverbial horses running could be anything, innocuous or alluring, it makes no difference. Ergo, any portion of the body is fair game. Anything you can imagine, in any nigh conceivable situation, is likely irresistible to someone.
And it goes without saying one can service said someone with all those mundane crevices— even the ones you wouldn't think only require a little creativity. A flattened palm to act as a bracket in a pinch [hah] whilst rutting against a stomach or a shoulder or a neck, or a couple of bound limbs.
Ah and never discount the simple novelty of those that adore mundane objects used on knees or wrists, cunts or cocks. [Strange, how this feels like deja vu despite never having had this conversation— or anything like it before. He's told no one of his trade unless it was demanded of him, and yet as he pens this down he has to check to shake the overwhelming notion that he has discussed this with Fenris. Perched atop a settee in a warm room by firelight, but—
Some remnant of some spice-wine laced dream, no doubt.]
Not in the way you might be picturing, either: just a few strokes of a hairbrush and a little filthy talk or panting, and off they go into blinding bliss— no intercourse required.