Attaboy. [It's murmured against Kyle's neck, accompanied by Corry's hand reaching over, getting his fingers (and the nightstand, oops) messy and slick with lube before he slides them down and inside Kyle, slowly working him open. The hand on Kyle's cock doesn't stop, though it slows a bit, not pushing too quickly, taking his time. Still, the ropes mean that moving too much is impossible, that the pleasure builds slow and easy, at Corry's pace only.

Still, he's keeping up the compliments, kissing up and down Kyle's neck, his shoulder, murmuring:] You're so fuckin' gorgeous like this, baby. You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you. Not a fuckin' clue.