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“What are your pronouns?” “She/her. And you?” “He/him.”
She used her left hand to stroke his dick, while the other went down, rolling his balls in her palm briefly before sliding even lower, between his cheeks. “Okay?” she whispered, her heart rabbiting in her chest, her clit throbbing. He lifted his legs in answer, balancing his feet on the bed.
She wouldn’t change what she had for the world, and not for something as ridiculous as “normality”. She was a proud murderer of rapists; “normal” was no longer in her wheelhouse.
When she sat up, reaching for his dick, he stopped her, a flush in his cheeks. “I want you inside me,” he whispered. Joy practically melted. “Of course, darling,” she murmured.
