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monaboyd Nov. 6th, 2005 01:08 am)
mmmarmalade.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Nov. 6th, 2005 01:08 am)STORY TITLE: How to Put the 'Tart' in Tartan (groan)? How to Put the 'Laid' in Plaid (double groan)? Pick one.
AUTHOR: mmmarmalade
RATING: NC-17
STYLE: erotica
STARRING: DomBilly (who else?)
COMMENTS: someone requested a kilt fic and voila!
FEEDBACK: is my favorite drug
DISCLAIMER: not true, never was, never will be, and if you think it is, please seek professional help.
HOW TO PUT THE TART IN TARTAN
Billy takes the package that's just been delivered, and closes the door. He sprints into the bedroom with it and throws it on the bed. Opening it up, he smiles a smile of sly mischief.
Dom plunges his hand once more into the soil to dislodge the stubborn root that doesn't want to give up its stranglehold. Two more tugs and it finally succumbs to Dom's will. He brushes the excess dirt from his hands and sits back on his heels for a moment, swiping his forearm across his brow, feeling the sweat trickle down his neck in this hot California sun. The corners of his eyes crinkle up a little as he smiles at his handiwork, a row of bright sunflowers sentineling this edge of the rather sizeable garden, each one a good three and a half to four feet tall already. There are still a good half-dozen weeds to pull and Dom shifts his position over a bit to reach the next batch.
"Merry, Merry, short and hairy, how does your garden grow?"
Dom is still focused on the work at hand when the familiar voice lilts across the yard to greet his receptive ears, the tone and timbre nuzzling around his earlobes sexily before entering. He marvels at how Billy has seemingly trained his voice to do this to him, like an agreeable pet poodle. Hmm. Aural sex, he thinks to himself, and snickers a little.
"Going quite well, no thanks to you, you lazy scot," he admonishes teasingly, eyes continuing the search for more weedish invaders to banish.
He reaches for the next prickly weed, and tugs at it carefully as he hears footsteps soughing softly through the carpet of grass behind him.
"Well, I suppose I should make amends for being such a lazy arse to you, my wee tree-hugging Mancunian stud."
As Dom is pulling out the last weed in this section, his peripheral vision notes the entrance of two bare feet. Dom pulls back, deposits the offending vegetation onto a small pile, and proceeds to scan up quickly from those two bare feet, eyes squinting a bit from the bright sunshine. They lead to a pair of pale but not unattractive calves, two slightly knobby but distinctly scottish knees, a blue tartan kilt (with sporran), and a bare-chested scotsman standing with his hands on his hips.
Dom is fully aware that his soil-covered hands have just become the least dirty aspect of his being. The wash of images that cascade through his brain in a fraction of a second could only be purified with a bar of soap the size of your average Volvo. He thanks God for the high fence that surrounds the yard. Wouldn't this just make for a Kodak moment.
"Well, fuck me."
"I knew my kneecaps would drive you wild. They do, don't they?" says Billy, a confidently smug smile spreading its way over his stubbled face.
"Not at all," replies Dom, turning back to the garden, "I'm completely immune to all your carnal charms, as you well know." He tries to repress the smile that curls up at one corner of his mouth. He nonchalantly rearranges and pats down a few piles of dirt.
"Completely immune? Really?"
"Mm. 'Fraid so." replies Dom, continuing to ignore the blue-bekilted vision, and the fact that he is still on his knees, no less, in the presence of said blue-bekilted vision. He hears the sough of footsteps once again, and then feels the edge of a leather sporran poking at the base of his neck, and ten fingers begin to card lingeringly through his hair, scraping tiny lines over his scalp, like little furrows waiting to receive the seeds of his lust. A shiver runs down his neck and into his spine as his eyes roll upward in their sockets. His hands hang limply at his sides.
"No effect whatsoever. Sorry," says Dom, his voice only wobbling a little.
He feels Billy drop to his knees behind him, running his fingertips down the back of Dom's sweat-sheened neck. A pair of soft, bow-shaped lips press themselves warmly behind his ear, and kiss a trail down his neck, causing little darts of pleasure to bobsled rapidly and unbidden to Dom's finish line. Billy's hands crawl quietly underneath Dom's well-worn Man U t-shirt, and circle around to graze over Dom's pecs and nipples.
"Anything?" Billy whispers hotly into Dom's ear.
"Not even a tingle," squeaks Dom.
Billy lets out a melodramatic sigh. "Well, I guess I know when I'm beat. Just have to try again another day." He pats Dom casually on the back, gets up, brushes some invisible dirt off his kilt, and saunters into the house.
Evil, evil man, thinks Dom, as he continues to kneel there for several long moments, waiting expectantly for Billy to return and pounce on him. He stares at the patio doors. Billy does not return.
"You wanker." Dom points an accusatory finger at Billy, now sitting in the kitchen with his feet up, reading a magazine. An open beer sits sweating on the table.
"Moi?" says Billy's innocent expression. Dom pulls the magazine from Billy's hands and flings it onto the floor. He seats himself solidly overtop of Billy's sporran, and plants a blazing kiss on his lover's lips, as he wraps his legs around Billy and the chair. Before Dom has even worked his way to the first crescendo of this kiss, Billy breaks away.
"Off, off, off, get off," he commands.
"What?"
In answer, Billy grabs hold of Dom's wrists, and holds out Dom's hands as if he is displaying two overused oilrags.
"These are getting nowhere near my brand-spanking-new kilt that will be worn to a wedding in less than two weeks. Come with me, dirty boy."
"I love it when you call me that."
He leads Dom, who is whinging pointlessly now, to the bathroom and turns on some warm water. He stands behind Dom at the sink, and gently begins to stroke away the layers of dirt, his hips pressing Dom's groin into the bathroom counter. He strokes and soothes and smooths and lingers, his own fingers gliding into the valleys between Dom's, his thumbs swirling circles into his palms, and finds Dom's whinging has been replaced by soft, erratic breathing.
Billy continues at his leisurely pace, holding each fingernail under the water to rinse out all the tiny bits of earth. He is firmly and rhythmically pressing his hips into Dom's arse as he does this, listening to Dom's breath shudder deliciously with every lungful. He pumps a dollop of soap from the dispenser, and silks the slick bubbles over Dom's slender, beautiful hands. He intertwines his fingers with Dom's, and can't resist the invitation Dom's neck is giving him for a few soft, well-placed love bites. Dom lets out a sound that falls somewhere between an Ohhh and an Ahhh.
"You're killing me here," he supplies impatiently.
"It'll be sweeter for the suffering, Dommie-love," Billy whispers into his ear, as Dom leans back to bite, and then nibble, on Billy's shoulder with a lovely singularity of purpose. Billy pulls their joined hands into the warm water and rinses off the fragrant bubbles, even though his view is blocked almost completely by Dom's shoulder-nibbling head. He feels for the knobs and turns off the water.
As Dom finally relinquishes his shoulder, Billy pulls down a small towel and proceeds to envelop Dom's hands in the fluffy cotton. Once he has caressed away the excess moisture, he brings Dom's hands up to his face and bestows a warm kiss to each palm. He slides Dom's hands up a little to cup either side of his face, then covers them with his own hands. Billy's gaze falls to Dom's blue-grey eyes and holds there. Billy lifts his hand from its resting place on Dom's and traces the pad of his thumb over Dom's lips. He cups the side of Dom's face and tenders him a kiss that is deep and silky and warm, like a panther's body sinewing through night air. He can almost feel Dom moan inside the kiss before he hears him.
Soon, their arms are encircling each other, Billy's hand cradling the back of Dom's head, and their heartbeats drumming against each other through their chests. Dom grinds his hips into Billy's and finds his fleshly desire for friction impeded. He reaches down and fusses for a moment with the chain of the sporran, and mumbles into their kiss.
"What?" says Billy.
"Can we get this thing out of the way?"
"Oh," replies Billy and takes a few moments to release the chain, and then set the leather pouch on the counter.
"Much better," sighs Dom, as he presses himself very firmly into Billy's body, wedging him up against the edge of the counter. They fall into another hungry kiss, Dom grinding the hard column of his arousal into Billy, and snaking his hands underneath the blue tartan. One hand caresses promisingly up Billy's thigh, the other moving inward to cup and stroke his balls.
"One of the many reasons I love your kilts," whispers Dom, "..such.... easy access."
"Much like you, 'cept you're just easy," returns Billy, smiling as he kisses along Dom's jaw.
"Well, I wouldn't want to make you work too hard at your advanced age."
"Cheeky bugger," growls Billy, pushing forward (albeit carefully, what with Dom's hand still attached to his nether parts) and swinging Dom around so that he is now pressed against the vanity. Billy reluctantly removes Dom's hands from under his kilt, then grabs the edge of Dom's t-shirt and whips it none too delicately up over his head. Billy leans in and circles his tongue around a nipple, then rolls it between his teeth for a moment before biting down on it just a little too hard for comfort. He feels Dom flinch just a bit.
"Just remember, I may be older than you, but I can still turn you into the One-Nippled Wonder." He clears his throat a little. "Now, who's your Daddy?"
"Ehm...you are?"
"That's better." His mouth returns to the offended nipple and soothes it for a few long moments, eliciting some deeply arousing sounds from Dom's lips. Billy continues to grind rhythmically into Dom's hips as his mouth and tongue paint kisses over his lover's chest. Dom's hand is now twining through Billy's hair, as he arches his back a little into Billy's kisses. Billy breaks off and slides his hands from Dom's back down to the button of his jeans. He pops it open, lowers the zip, and pushes the jeans and boxers down to Dom's ankles in one fell swoop. Dom shakes off one flip-flop, and then steps out of the pile of rumpled fabric. The process repeats, and a few seconds later, Billy is kneeling in front of Dom, hands vining around his thighs, Billy's mouth pressing warm, laving kisses up the thick, solid length of Dom's cock. Dom's hands are both firmly attached to the back of Billy's head, and he begins to moan openly when Billy's mouth encloses his tip and starts to suckle with firm enthusiasm.
"Oh God, Bills, stop," groans Dom after several seconds, "or I'll be finished before we're properly started." Billy relinquishes his prize with a small pang of disappointment, and stands up, running his hands up the length of Dom's arms. Dom's hand once again delves into the depths of the kilt, and he wraps his fingers around Billy, stroking his fist solidly along his length several times.
"Love how your hands can be so clean and so dirty at the same time," admires Billy, between soft moans of approval, as his hands caress over Dom's shoulders. Dom's reply is a smile and some tender kisses to Billy's face. This evolves into another consuming kiss, Dom releasing his grip on Billy to wrap him tightly in his arms. The kiss is long and deep and open, and when their lips finally part, their breathing is fast and hot.
Billy takes Dom by the hips and gently turns him around, running his hands over the smooth rounds of Dom's arse. He opens a small drawer in the vanity, and rummages for a bit, extracting a small tube. He flips open the lid, and squeezes a little lube into his hand. Lifting his kilt out of the way, he glides his fist over his cock a couple of times, then gently glides two fingers into Dom, slowly working to relax the muscles, and adding a third finger before long.
Dom is leaning over the vanity now, one hand holding on to the faucet, and the other reaching back to grasp Billy's hip, sliding under the soft fabric of the kilt. Billy can feel Dom's muscles relaxing and hears his name breathed out. He draws out his fingers and pushes slowly but completely into Dom, groaning at the tight convulsing heat.
He circles one hand around to grip Dom's cock and begins stroking in rhythm with his thrusts. He wraps his other arm around Dom's body, pulling him close. The words "Love you, Dommie," are breathed into Dom's neck as Billy's thrusts come faster and harder. He can feel how close Dom is, and it is only a matter of moments before Dom's orgasm floods through him, his body rigid with his release. He calls out Billy's name, and only a few thrusts more have Billy coming hard and breathless inside Dom. They fall together to the cool smooth surface of the counter, Billy's body spasming with some aftertremors. Dom can feel Billy's warm breaths gradually spiralling into calmness at his shoulderblade as his own do the same. Billy's free hand trails softly down Dom's side.
Dom releases his grip on the faucet, and reaches for the small towel that's been tossed to one side on the counter. He gently pushes his body upward, nudging Billy to move a little, and trying to release Billy's trapped hand from underneath him. He presses the towel to Billy's hand, cleaning him off, then himself and the counter, and tosses the towel into the sink. Billy braces his hands on the counter and pushes himself up, sliding out of Dom, and freeing Dom from his weight. Dom rises up and turns, sweeping his arms around Billy in a warm and sated embrace. Dom buries his face in Billy's neck and nuzzles kisses to the soft skin. Billy's hands stroke randomly through Dom's hair and over his spine. Dom's hands graze over the fine wool covering Billy's arse and asks,"Can we get one of these that's just for.....fun?"
Billy smiles and says, "You'll have to pay for all of the drycleaning."
"My pleasure," says Dom, "my pleasure."
AUTHOR: mmmarmalade
RATING: NC-17
STYLE: erotica
STARRING: DomBilly (who else?)
COMMENTS: someone requested a kilt fic and voila!
FEEDBACK: is my favorite drug
DISCLAIMER: not true, never was, never will be, and if you think it is, please seek professional help.
HOW TO PUT THE TART IN TARTAN
Billy takes the package that's just been delivered, and closes the door. He sprints into the bedroom with it and throws it on the bed. Opening it up, he smiles a smile of sly mischief.
Dom plunges his hand once more into the soil to dislodge the stubborn root that doesn't want to give up its stranglehold. Two more tugs and it finally succumbs to Dom's will. He brushes the excess dirt from his hands and sits back on his heels for a moment, swiping his forearm across his brow, feeling the sweat trickle down his neck in this hot California sun. The corners of his eyes crinkle up a little as he smiles at his handiwork, a row of bright sunflowers sentineling this edge of the rather sizeable garden, each one a good three and a half to four feet tall already. There are still a good half-dozen weeds to pull and Dom shifts his position over a bit to reach the next batch.
"Merry, Merry, short and hairy, how does your garden grow?"
Dom is still focused on the work at hand when the familiar voice lilts across the yard to greet his receptive ears, the tone and timbre nuzzling around his earlobes sexily before entering. He marvels at how Billy has seemingly trained his voice to do this to him, like an agreeable pet poodle. Hmm. Aural sex, he thinks to himself, and snickers a little.
"Going quite well, no thanks to you, you lazy scot," he admonishes teasingly, eyes continuing the search for more weedish invaders to banish.
He reaches for the next prickly weed, and tugs at it carefully as he hears footsteps soughing softly through the carpet of grass behind him.
"Well, I suppose I should make amends for being such a lazy arse to you, my wee tree-hugging Mancunian stud."
As Dom is pulling out the last weed in this section, his peripheral vision notes the entrance of two bare feet. Dom pulls back, deposits the offending vegetation onto a small pile, and proceeds to scan up quickly from those two bare feet, eyes squinting a bit from the bright sunshine. They lead to a pair of pale but not unattractive calves, two slightly knobby but distinctly scottish knees, a blue tartan kilt (with sporran), and a bare-chested scotsman standing with his hands on his hips.
Dom is fully aware that his soil-covered hands have just become the least dirty aspect of his being. The wash of images that cascade through his brain in a fraction of a second could only be purified with a bar of soap the size of your average Volvo. He thanks God for the high fence that surrounds the yard. Wouldn't this just make for a Kodak moment.
"Well, fuck me."
"I knew my kneecaps would drive you wild. They do, don't they?" says Billy, a confidently smug smile spreading its way over his stubbled face.
"Not at all," replies Dom, turning back to the garden, "I'm completely immune to all your carnal charms, as you well know." He tries to repress the smile that curls up at one corner of his mouth. He nonchalantly rearranges and pats down a few piles of dirt.
"Completely immune? Really?"
"Mm. 'Fraid so." replies Dom, continuing to ignore the blue-bekilted vision, and the fact that he is still on his knees, no less, in the presence of said blue-bekilted vision. He hears the sough of footsteps once again, and then feels the edge of a leather sporran poking at the base of his neck, and ten fingers begin to card lingeringly through his hair, scraping tiny lines over his scalp, like little furrows waiting to receive the seeds of his lust. A shiver runs down his neck and into his spine as his eyes roll upward in their sockets. His hands hang limply at his sides.
"No effect whatsoever. Sorry," says Dom, his voice only wobbling a little.
He feels Billy drop to his knees behind him, running his fingertips down the back of Dom's sweat-sheened neck. A pair of soft, bow-shaped lips press themselves warmly behind his ear, and kiss a trail down his neck, causing little darts of pleasure to bobsled rapidly and unbidden to Dom's finish line. Billy's hands crawl quietly underneath Dom's well-worn Man U t-shirt, and circle around to graze over Dom's pecs and nipples.
"Anything?" Billy whispers hotly into Dom's ear.
"Not even a tingle," squeaks Dom.
Billy lets out a melodramatic sigh. "Well, I guess I know when I'm beat. Just have to try again another day." He pats Dom casually on the back, gets up, brushes some invisible dirt off his kilt, and saunters into the house.
Evil, evil man, thinks Dom, as he continues to kneel there for several long moments, waiting expectantly for Billy to return and pounce on him. He stares at the patio doors. Billy does not return.
"You wanker." Dom points an accusatory finger at Billy, now sitting in the kitchen with his feet up, reading a magazine. An open beer sits sweating on the table.
"Moi?" says Billy's innocent expression. Dom pulls the magazine from Billy's hands and flings it onto the floor. He seats himself solidly overtop of Billy's sporran, and plants a blazing kiss on his lover's lips, as he wraps his legs around Billy and the chair. Before Dom has even worked his way to the first crescendo of this kiss, Billy breaks away.
"Off, off, off, get off," he commands.
"What?"
In answer, Billy grabs hold of Dom's wrists, and holds out Dom's hands as if he is displaying two overused oilrags.
"These are getting nowhere near my brand-spanking-new kilt that will be worn to a wedding in less than two weeks. Come with me, dirty boy."
"I love it when you call me that."
He leads Dom, who is whinging pointlessly now, to the bathroom and turns on some warm water. He stands behind Dom at the sink, and gently begins to stroke away the layers of dirt, his hips pressing Dom's groin into the bathroom counter. He strokes and soothes and smooths and lingers, his own fingers gliding into the valleys between Dom's, his thumbs swirling circles into his palms, and finds Dom's whinging has been replaced by soft, erratic breathing.
Billy continues at his leisurely pace, holding each fingernail under the water to rinse out all the tiny bits of earth. He is firmly and rhythmically pressing his hips into Dom's arse as he does this, listening to Dom's breath shudder deliciously with every lungful. He pumps a dollop of soap from the dispenser, and silks the slick bubbles over Dom's slender, beautiful hands. He intertwines his fingers with Dom's, and can't resist the invitation Dom's neck is giving him for a few soft, well-placed love bites. Dom lets out a sound that falls somewhere between an Ohhh and an Ahhh.
"You're killing me here," he supplies impatiently.
"It'll be sweeter for the suffering, Dommie-love," Billy whispers into his ear, as Dom leans back to bite, and then nibble, on Billy's shoulder with a lovely singularity of purpose. Billy pulls their joined hands into the warm water and rinses off the fragrant bubbles, even though his view is blocked almost completely by Dom's shoulder-nibbling head. He feels for the knobs and turns off the water.
As Dom finally relinquishes his shoulder, Billy pulls down a small towel and proceeds to envelop Dom's hands in the fluffy cotton. Once he has caressed away the excess moisture, he brings Dom's hands up to his face and bestows a warm kiss to each palm. He slides Dom's hands up a little to cup either side of his face, then covers them with his own hands. Billy's gaze falls to Dom's blue-grey eyes and holds there. Billy lifts his hand from its resting place on Dom's and traces the pad of his thumb over Dom's lips. He cups the side of Dom's face and tenders him a kiss that is deep and silky and warm, like a panther's body sinewing through night air. He can almost feel Dom moan inside the kiss before he hears him.
Soon, their arms are encircling each other, Billy's hand cradling the back of Dom's head, and their heartbeats drumming against each other through their chests. Dom grinds his hips into Billy's and finds his fleshly desire for friction impeded. He reaches down and fusses for a moment with the chain of the sporran, and mumbles into their kiss.
"What?" says Billy.
"Can we get this thing out of the way?"
"Oh," replies Billy and takes a few moments to release the chain, and then set the leather pouch on the counter.
"Much better," sighs Dom, as he presses himself very firmly into Billy's body, wedging him up against the edge of the counter. They fall into another hungry kiss, Dom grinding the hard column of his arousal into Billy, and snaking his hands underneath the blue tartan. One hand caresses promisingly up Billy's thigh, the other moving inward to cup and stroke his balls.
"One of the many reasons I love your kilts," whispers Dom, "..such.... easy access."
"Much like you, 'cept you're just easy," returns Billy, smiling as he kisses along Dom's jaw.
"Well, I wouldn't want to make you work too hard at your advanced age."
"Cheeky bugger," growls Billy, pushing forward (albeit carefully, what with Dom's hand still attached to his nether parts) and swinging Dom around so that he is now pressed against the vanity. Billy reluctantly removes Dom's hands from under his kilt, then grabs the edge of Dom's t-shirt and whips it none too delicately up over his head. Billy leans in and circles his tongue around a nipple, then rolls it between his teeth for a moment before biting down on it just a little too hard for comfort. He feels Dom flinch just a bit.
"Just remember, I may be older than you, but I can still turn you into the One-Nippled Wonder." He clears his throat a little. "Now, who's your Daddy?"
"Ehm...you are?"
"That's better." His mouth returns to the offended nipple and soothes it for a few long moments, eliciting some deeply arousing sounds from Dom's lips. Billy continues to grind rhythmically into Dom's hips as his mouth and tongue paint kisses over his lover's chest. Dom's hand is now twining through Billy's hair, as he arches his back a little into Billy's kisses. Billy breaks off and slides his hands from Dom's back down to the button of his jeans. He pops it open, lowers the zip, and pushes the jeans and boxers down to Dom's ankles in one fell swoop. Dom shakes off one flip-flop, and then steps out of the pile of rumpled fabric. The process repeats, and a few seconds later, Billy is kneeling in front of Dom, hands vining around his thighs, Billy's mouth pressing warm, laving kisses up the thick, solid length of Dom's cock. Dom's hands are both firmly attached to the back of Billy's head, and he begins to moan openly when Billy's mouth encloses his tip and starts to suckle with firm enthusiasm.
"Oh God, Bills, stop," groans Dom after several seconds, "or I'll be finished before we're properly started." Billy relinquishes his prize with a small pang of disappointment, and stands up, running his hands up the length of Dom's arms. Dom's hand once again delves into the depths of the kilt, and he wraps his fingers around Billy, stroking his fist solidly along his length several times.
"Love how your hands can be so clean and so dirty at the same time," admires Billy, between soft moans of approval, as his hands caress over Dom's shoulders. Dom's reply is a smile and some tender kisses to Billy's face. This evolves into another consuming kiss, Dom releasing his grip on Billy to wrap him tightly in his arms. The kiss is long and deep and open, and when their lips finally part, their breathing is fast and hot.
Billy takes Dom by the hips and gently turns him around, running his hands over the smooth rounds of Dom's arse. He opens a small drawer in the vanity, and rummages for a bit, extracting a small tube. He flips open the lid, and squeezes a little lube into his hand. Lifting his kilt out of the way, he glides his fist over his cock a couple of times, then gently glides two fingers into Dom, slowly working to relax the muscles, and adding a third finger before long.
Dom is leaning over the vanity now, one hand holding on to the faucet, and the other reaching back to grasp Billy's hip, sliding under the soft fabric of the kilt. Billy can feel Dom's muscles relaxing and hears his name breathed out. He draws out his fingers and pushes slowly but completely into Dom, groaning at the tight convulsing heat.
He circles one hand around to grip Dom's cock and begins stroking in rhythm with his thrusts. He wraps his other arm around Dom's body, pulling him close. The words "Love you, Dommie," are breathed into Dom's neck as Billy's thrusts come faster and harder. He can feel how close Dom is, and it is only a matter of moments before Dom's orgasm floods through him, his body rigid with his release. He calls out Billy's name, and only a few thrusts more have Billy coming hard and breathless inside Dom. They fall together to the cool smooth surface of the counter, Billy's body spasming with some aftertremors. Dom can feel Billy's warm breaths gradually spiralling into calmness at his shoulderblade as his own do the same. Billy's free hand trails softly down Dom's side.
Dom releases his grip on the faucet, and reaches for the small towel that's been tossed to one side on the counter. He gently pushes his body upward, nudging Billy to move a little, and trying to release Billy's trapped hand from underneath him. He presses the towel to Billy's hand, cleaning him off, then himself and the counter, and tosses the towel into the sink. Billy braces his hands on the counter and pushes himself up, sliding out of Dom, and freeing Dom from his weight. Dom rises up and turns, sweeping his arms around Billy in a warm and sated embrace. Dom buries his face in Billy's neck and nuzzles kisses to the soft skin. Billy's hands stroke randomly through Dom's hair and over his spine. Dom's hands graze over the fine wool covering Billy's arse and asks,"Can we get one of these that's just for.....fun?"
Billy smiles and says, "You'll have to pay for all of the drycleaning."
"My pleasure," says Dom, "my pleasure."
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