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Thinking about sucking Kishibe’s soft cock when he’s too drunk to get it up.
Your sweet, soft tongue lapping over the mound of unshaped clay between his spread legs. Tasting the organic mineralogy of his skin; sweat and musk all hypnotizing you on your knees below him.
He lays back on the bed, head swimming in booze, his pants hurriedly pulled open and down just barely past his hips before you dropped onto your knees between his legs and began your sweet torture.
The alcohol, or his age, or who knows what the fuck else had ravaged his bloodstream and made it short to circulate and make his desire actually fucking useful to you. So here he laid, drunk and soft, lamenting his useless-- or he thought so. Until you drug your hands down his body to his belt, unbuckling fervently with your vixen eyes watching him begin to spill excuses.
"baby...I can't-- come on...had too much---don't"
But you press further, humming with the satisfied purr that usually only came out once you had him full mast and dripping.
"I don't care if you don't." You lick your glossy lips and watch him through dark, fluffy lashes.
Kishibe's breath is humid with drunken desire, he feels a shiver of anxiety. He hasn't been nervous in bed for twenty years, but the sight of you, inching your tongue toward his flaccid cock makes his heart pound against his ribs. He feels a twin heartbeat in his cock, certain that your tongue can feel it as close as it is.
"hmmm?" You coo, extending your tongue in a cute little point.
He can't deny you. He can't deny himself. Whether others would believe it, he does think himself a gentleman, and to just take from a lady goes against what he believes in. Or what he usually believes in. But he's putty underneath you, he couldn't deny it if he wanted to. And without the usual indicator of his want, he has to tell you himself. He releases a wimpy sigh and nod before keening backwards with one arm draping across his eyes. The wavy swirl of drunkeness sinks him into the mattress as he feels the wet flesh of your tongue run the median line from the inside of one thigh, across the sleepy genitalia, to his other thigh.
You purse your lips together in a small O, letting thin spit run forward freely, wetting his lap. He groans above you, you are delighted to see him writhe beneath you. You look up at him on the bed, wishing you could see the blush he hid under his elbow. But you preoccupied yourself elsewhere, resting your cheek on his thigh and extending your tongue playfully to kitten lick the pinprick hole at the head of his cock. You don't know if your expect it to twitch toward you, but it stays stationary. Tucked to the left, facing you, like it wants to kiss you again but can't break the ice. You do the gallant thing and lean forward, wrapping your lips around the tip and letting your tongue flick across the curve. Kishibe's arm falls to the bed, the other
hand reaching for your hair.
You open your mouth and slide your tongue along the truncated shaft of his cock. Thin, wrinkled skin sagging and being pulled by even the gentlest of touches. The cruel, devastating length that he normally operates with is unrecognizable in this state. Only a few inches, hiding in his dark, barely tended pubic hair. Small, shy cock sitting atop full, desperate balls that now dwarf the usual star of the show. You want to reward them, so you slide your self down further, running the back of your tongue down the seam of his sack. You take one into your mouth, feeling the testis veiled in thin, fragile skin. Your tongue maps out its circumference, feels its weight-- then compares its twin.
The floppy, spit soaked cock paints your face in your own drool and you relish in the sight you must be. Imagining yourself from his perspective. Now that you can see him watching you from above, now that you can hear his breathing become heavy and filled with wimpy, low vocalizations. You let his balls fall heavy from your mouth, opening it limply to run your face along the slack length of his cock. Its own sticky leak and your residual spit coating your face in a dewy, syrupy glow.
Kishibe tries to sit up, having to use one hand to support himself up, but he has to see more of you. He has to watch you. Your eyes are rolling back as you slather yourself with his cock, his pre cum, your spit. He finds himself spitting, perhaps out of jealousy that only your spit got to be on your face, or maybe in a sick way he was helping. He sees the foamy white spit hit your face and for a moment he stalls completely. And then your smile, a blissful, closed eye smile of total satisfaction.
You reward him with a full face stroke of his feeble "erection", as the lowest parts have begun to attempt a constrictive foundation. But the remaining tissue can't be persuaded.
As though choreographed, you take him into your mouth fully, as his hands now rest on either side of your head. Kishibe is sitting up now, his back at attention, because something must be. You think this may be one of the only time you have had the whole of his cock in your mouth so comfortably. Usually you would be gagging an dsputtering, trying to stimulate him with the friction of both hands and your mouth, rather than deep throating. But like this, theres nothing deep. You can feel him just beginning to graze the back of your tongu; the rough, wide tastebuds back there absorbing the cocktail of early arousal and mixed saliva. You roll your eyes back and Kishibe pressed you into his crotch further.
Kishibe can't stop watching you, trying to fight the intoxication that he knows will threaten his memory of this. Experimentally he rolls his hips against your flush mouth. And when you don't gag he feels is sinking mix of satisfaction and depravation. He feels humiliatingly desired.
He spills himself before he even realizes he was close. Hell, he didn't even know cumming this soft was possible.
Neither did you, but you prayed, and some sick god of perversion has answered you. His hands tighten around your head, pressing your nose into his pelvis. You try to inhale but can barely draw breath between skins. Drools drips from your lower lip, onto your knee, and onto the floor below you.
Kishibe's face scrunches and a low, crackling groan rips from his chest. Finally he relents on your head and you can pull off to breathe again. You swallow and lick your lips eager for any you might have missed.
You stare up at him from your position on the floor and he, too, looks down to you; awe and confusion, and sex hanging between you like sheer curtains that still allow the glow of evening sunset to bleed onto the floor in large, thrown patterns.
You pant, spit and cum and sweat salting your tongue. Sullying your face, your chin, beginning to spoil down your neck. You wait for his next move.