[Tate can't say for sure if he's come this hard before - he's never come like this, but in ways that are similar. And in comparison to those, this takes the cake. He's always had a thing for being choked, the surrender of it and the trust it takes to put your life in someone else's hands... it's something Tate considers romantic, to the fullest extent. Intimate beyond measure. And here he is, choking on cock like a champ, and aside from some tears streaming down the sides of his face - he's doing damn well, too.
His orgasm hits him like a truck which is good, because it leaves him momentarily stunned enough not to feel the harsh thrust of Derek's hips that follows it because he's too swept into enjoying the feeling of a hot tongue over the cotton of his boxers, wondering how something so obscure could feel so good. He's clawing at Derek's sides for something to grip, red and white lines criss-crossing his skin from his nails.
One shallow fuck lets Tate gasp in a breath that fills his lungs before Derek's cock is buried in him, cutting his air off and making him violently squirm beneath his hips when it pins him there. His eyes are shut tight, throat flexing when he feels the urge to retch and gag, and seconds drag into what feels like years before Derek's cock twitches and shoots. The sensation of his cock moving is all he feels until Derek pulls out, cum hitting the back of his throat and coating his tongue catching him by surprise. He's coughing on that when more streaks his face, and Tate feels utterly wrecked - he can't even lift a hand to blot it out with Derek still over top of him.
He rolls off and leaves Tate laying there, sputtering and tear-streaked as he turns over onto all fours to choke on a mouthful of cum. He spits it out in a sticky strand, but seems to think twice about the gesture and catches what pools out of his mouth in his upturned hand, as if he'll get chastised for wasting it. He's blinded by a flurry of tears and what is likely a shot of cum that slips down the inner curve of his nose, running down his face as he wheezes.
Tate crumples forward, down onto his forearms with his forehead against one of them and his shoulders tucked in. He's breathing raspy through a few retching gags that are loudly audible, but he manages not to lose his lunch. It just takes a long, long moment before he can lift his head again and look at Derek - one eye shut and the other glassy. He swallows hard before swiping his tongue over his upper lip slowly, as if tentative to move a muscle - as if even that licking moment is somehow inspiring soreness in the wake of all that.]
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His orgasm hits him like a truck which is good, because it leaves him momentarily stunned enough not to feel the harsh thrust of Derek's hips that follows it because he's too swept into enjoying the feeling of a hot tongue over the cotton of his boxers, wondering how something so obscure could feel so good. He's clawing at Derek's sides for something to grip, red and white lines criss-crossing his skin from his nails.
One shallow fuck lets Tate gasp in a breath that fills his lungs before Derek's cock is buried in him, cutting his air off and making him violently squirm beneath his hips when it pins him there. His eyes are shut tight, throat flexing when he feels the urge to retch and gag, and seconds drag into what feels like years before Derek's cock twitches and shoots. The sensation of his cock moving is all he feels until Derek pulls out, cum hitting the back of his throat and coating his tongue catching him by surprise. He's coughing on that when more streaks his face, and Tate feels utterly wrecked - he can't even lift a hand to blot it out with Derek still over top of him.
He rolls off and leaves Tate laying there, sputtering and tear-streaked as he turns over onto all fours to choke on a mouthful of cum. He spits it out in a sticky strand, but seems to think twice about the gesture and catches what pools out of his mouth in his upturned hand, as if he'll get chastised for wasting it. He's blinded by a flurry of tears and what is likely a shot of cum that slips down the inner curve of his nose, running down his face as he wheezes.
Tate crumples forward, down onto his forearms with his forehead against one of them and his shoulders tucked in. He's breathing raspy through a few retching gags that are loudly audible, but he manages not to lose his lunch. It just takes a long, long moment before he can lift his head again and look at Derek - one eye shut and the other glassy. He swallows hard before swiping his tongue over his upper lip slowly, as if tentative to move a muscle - as if even that licking moment is somehow inspiring soreness in the wake of all that.]
Good?