Squeak

by Vera Valentine

I made short work of his zipper and groaned as the heady scent of powdered sugar and latex sweetened the room.

Seb tossed his head back with a gasp, his end unknotting with a snap on my tongue before hot, thin jets of funnel cake icing flowed out to soothe the sting.

I have no words for this *cackling*

“Poppy, you’re safe, but we really need to talk.” He tilted his hips and nodded downwards, where his entire pelvic region–still locked into my own–had gone a deep royal purple. And translucent. I screamed.