Wicked
Aiden Starr, TJ Cummings Pic(s)
The world narrows to the single, profound point of contact, a universe of sensation contained within the yielding pressure at his most intimate threshold. A single, slick finger traces a slow, deliberate circle there, not yet seeking entry but simply mapping the territory with a reverence that makes his breath catch. The initial touch is a spark, a jolt of pure awareness that radiates outward, warming his skin and tightening his stomach. As pressure is applied with infinite patience, the ring of muscle tinctively resists before gradually, miraculously, beginning to soften and welcome the gentle intrusion. The feeling of being slowly, carefully filled is unlike any other, a deep, spreading warmth that blossoms into a full-bodied shudder of pleasure. Every subtle movement ide is amplified, sending ripples of sensation that echo through his core and make his nerves sing. He becomes acutely aware of the internal landscape, the soft, velvety heat that embraces the exploring touch with a surprising hunger. The rhythm builds, a slow, building cadence that coaxes his entire body into a state of trembling anticipation, each gentle thrust unraveling a layer of tension he didn’t know he held. It is a journey of profound surrender, where vulnerability transforms into an overwhelming wave of ecstasy that threatens to pull him completely under.
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