[ altogether, his warmth and weight and scent are too much. how genuine it all feels, the dull throbbing of her throat making his presence all the more salient, reality all the more solid -

after all, per usual, it hurt a little at first. if she were dreaming, she would've woken up by now. but here she is on top of him, the sound of him so low, so close it sends a jolt through her, stokes the embers in her gut and pushes out all other thought as it settles resonant in her mind; it rings in her ears as her voice scrapes shallow out her throat, in light, hitching breaths,

of course it's real. of course he is real, but each time it occurs to her is more wonderful than the last, she's sure.

and setting her arms at his shoulders, she clings to him. her hose are tight and smooth to the touch but each spine she encounters prods and stretches at the fabric, breaking the monotony - as if bolstered she carries on; she rocks herself firm against the edge of his cock, slow but more forceful than he might recall, with unrestrained need for greater friction, heat and moisture growing where she's connected them. her fingers curl stiff and frustrated behind his back as if to tear the nylons to pieces themselves, short nails jabbing at his skin - harmlessly, but present, pinching.

under his mouth, too, it's obvious - if her pulse were any quicker, if it pounded any louder than this, he might not need the lynx ears to hear it. ]