His fingers moved to the waistband of the white panties.
Not the elastic this time.
The small, soft patch of dark hair visible above the cotton where the torn stockings had pulled everything slightly askew, the curls matted and glistening with the slick that had already started leaking despite her protests.
He took a small handful between two fingers, tugging the coarse, damp strands roughly.
And pulled.
"AAANGHH~!! WHAT—" Thalia's head came up off the seat entirely. "'What are you doing'—"
"My bad." His voice was flat. "I thought it was the stockings."
"You can 'clearly tell the difference'—"
"Can I?"
A pause.
"Yeah." He released the hair. "I can."
Another pause.
"I just won't."
His finger pushed the soaked cotton aside, the fabric clinging wetly to her swollen lips before he forced it away.
And pressed directly into her.
