His eyes, though, start to wander, flicking to your lap more often than your face, lingering on the pink drawstring, the rolled-down waistband, the way your hands rest there. His hand hovers near the boxers, not touching now, but the act of tugging down your sweatpants feels like a claim, a moment of connection that pushes you over the edge. Gay sex The contact is electric, slick with precum, and you start to rub yourself very slowly, taking your time, savoring every deliberate stroke. Your right hand speeds up slightly, rubbing your sissy clitty with more purpose, the precum leaking steadily, the wet spot growing into a clear, dark mark against the grey sweatpants. “Folks out walkin’ their dogs, too.” The mention of passersby sends a jolt of excitement through you, amplifying the forbidden thrill of your actions. Your right hand speeds up slightly, rubbing your sissy clitty with more purpose, the precum leaking steadily, the wet spot growing into a clear, dark mark against the grey sweatpants. His hand hovers near the boxers, not touching now, but the act of tugging down your sweatpants feels like a claim, a moment of connection that pushes you over the edge.
