OOM: For Sinric on Halloween

[cook_the_rude]

It seems like an invasion, the dirty, scruffy barbarian striding into the clean, civilised room. Kitchen and bed, desk and dining table, book cases and sofa are all still there. The prints on the walls today are vintage 1950s fashion plates and pin-ups, giving the place a touch of playfulness.

The large polished table with six chairs awaits the pleasure of the diners.

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal leans forward, grasping Sinric's hips and pouring wildness into the passionate kiss.

[thewidewideworld]

The wildness to makes him melt and moan. There is something about the barbaric masculinity that makes him feel wonderfully small.

[cook_the_rude]

Still kissing him fiercely, Hannibal backs him towards the diner g table.

[thewidewideworld]

He gasps into the kiss as his back bumps against the wood of the table, his hands going back to the surface as if to catch himself. "Yes." He gasps between kisses, wanting Hannibal to be sure this is what he wants.

[cook_the_rude]

"Up you go," Hannibal says, grasping Sinric's hips to bodily sit him on the table; then, after another fierce kiss, he pushes up the skirts.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric gasps as Hannibal lifts him effortlessly.

True to the rest of the outfit, He's wearing a longline, shaping girdle and silk stocking. But beneath them, he wears nothing but his own desire.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal reaches out towards a nearby shelf; olive oil is never far away at his dining table. A well-calculated dollop that won't stain the petticoat goes on Sinric's little snail; it's rubbed all over it, and then downwards into his hole.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric leans back on his hands, arching up into the touch. It's strange how much the skirts and the strange bareness of his shoulders and upper back, he feels even more vulnerable than normal.

He spreads his legs, resting the heeled feet dangling.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal rubs his oily finger deeper, slipping one into Sinric to open him up.

He dips his head and kisses the bared upper part of Sinric's cleavage, leaving second-hand lipstick stains.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric gasps, clenching around Hannibal's finger and revealing in not having to be quiet this time. Beneath the tight bra, his nipples harden, his exposed skin rife with goosebumps. "Oh yes!"

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal keeps greedily kissing the cleavage, all the exposed goose-bumped flesh, while he adds a second finger, and crooks them, aiming right for the hidden sweet spot inside Sinric.

[thewidewideworld]

He lifts his petite rear off the table as he arches up, feeling himself harden and clench as Hannibal stroke that secret place. His voice comes in short, high gasps; sweetly breathless.

[cook_the_rude]

After a few more strokes, Hannibal lets go in order to open his own rough leather breeches. His manhood juts out when released, hard and red-tipped, leaking at the slit.

"Ready for it?"

[thewidewideworld]

"Always!" Sinric pants, wrapping his legs around Hannibal's waist and sprawling back onto his elbows. "Always want you, always ready and willing!"

[cook_the_rude]

"You are delightful!" Hannibal declares; he rubs a little oil over himself, wipes his hand on the back of his own breeches like a barbarian, then grips Sinric's hips with both strong, rough hands and pushes right in.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's cry is broken, sweet and high as Hannibal's firm thrust fills him. His hand scrabble at the polished surface, utterly at the mercy of Hannibal's strong hands.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal holds his narrow waist in a strong grip, starting up shallow thrusts that hit home, again and again, against that sweet secret spot.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's curls bounce with everything thrusts, his stomach muscles clenching as he arches up.

Making love like this on a slippery surface, so utterly under another's control is a new and wonderful experience, the binding tight bra making his breasts ache to be touched.

[cook_the_rude]

Keeping his strong grip, Hannibal leans forward to cover Sinric, kissing the top of his cleavage again.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric arches up to his elbows to make his bare shoulders and upper chest easier to reach. He wishes there was some easy way to get the bodice loose but the zipper thing is somewhere he can't reach.

Part of him wonders if Hannibal would rip him out of the dress if he truly was the barbarian he is dressed as. But he knows the kind and thoughtful gentleman never would.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal reaches around Sinric's back, to unzip the top of the dress, and then unhook the top of the corsetry to free Sinric's little breasts and put his lips to the hard pink nipples.

[thewidewideworld]

The gentleman can multitask! Sinric would be very, very grateful. If he wasn't utterly too lost in moaning Hannibal's name.

He wriggles, clenching tight around Hannibal as the good doctor's lips send ripples of pleasure through his body.

[cook_the_rude]

"Now we're talking," the gentleman chuckles, lips moving against Sinric's breasts. He keeps thrusting, alternating deep and shallow thrusts, one to fill Sinric up, one to hit his sweet spot, steady and strong.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric clings to him, feeling that chuckle vibrate over his hard and sensitive nipples. The rhythm of Hannibal's thrusts keeps him off-kilter, almost unable to catch his breath. It leaves him wonderfully light headed, his body singing with joy.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal starts moaning softly against Sinric's nipples, his pleasure apparently getting the better of him.