( This is the problem with Sampo: he's ridiculous through and through, and he has very little shame when it comes to getting what he needs. He squirms on the spot, precum soaking through the lace of his panties as the toy shivers closer to that spot inside him, before somehow managing to pull himself to his feet when it becomes apparent that his mystery partner has decided to remain just that.
Fine.
Fine!
Sampo clutches his feather duster tightly as he turns to head through the nearest set of double doors, pausing momentareily to give the gleaming brass knobs a cursory dust before leaving the lobby behind. Maybe if he gets himself out of range of said mystery partner the toy won't be able to pick up on the signal; he can try again later, when he's rubbed out his tension and taken some time to gather his thoughts.
It's all quite embarrassing, really. Sampo is supposed to be good at reading body language β at picking up cues and noticing that which people might rather remain undetected. That this person managed to distract him enough that he didn't even make it past step one is pretty frustrating, actually, however grumbling over that doesn't seem anywhere near as pressing as dealing with the hard jut of his cock in his underwear.
Irritation can be deal with later. Right now? He just wants to come.
It's somewhat costume-appropriate that the first private spot he finds is behind a door labelled "SUPPLIES". He elbows his way in to find himself standing in a small storage closet of sorts: neatly stacked shelves line the walls from ceiling to floor laden with all manner of "supplies:" sex toys, sex toy cleaning products, lubricants in all sorts of marketable flavours, as well as rubber gloves, wet-wipes, clear tubing, and what look to be a variety of gags. Sampo snorts just the once as he braces himself against one of the shelves with a lace-gloved hand, then peels the other off with his teeth before reaching down to pull his cock out of his panties. )
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( This is the problem with Sampo: he's ridiculous through and through, and he has very little shame when it comes to getting what he needs. He squirms on the spot, precum soaking through the lace of his panties as the toy shivers closer to that spot inside him, before somehow managing to pull himself to his feet when it becomes apparent that his mystery partner has decided to remain just that.
Fine.
Fine!
Sampo clutches his feather duster tightly as he turns to head through the nearest set of double doors, pausing momentareily to give the gleaming brass knobs a cursory dust before leaving the lobby behind. Maybe if he gets himself out of range of said mystery partner the toy won't be able to pick up on the signal; he can try again later, when he's rubbed out his tension and taken some time to gather his thoughts.
It's all quite embarrassing, really. Sampo is supposed to be good at reading body language β at picking up cues and noticing that which people might rather remain undetected. That this person managed to distract him enough that he didn't even make it past step one is pretty frustrating, actually, however grumbling over that doesn't seem anywhere near as pressing as dealing with the hard jut of his cock in his underwear.
Irritation can be deal with later. Right now? He just wants to come.
It's somewhat costume-appropriate that the first private spot he finds is behind a door labelled "SUPPLIES". He elbows his way in to find himself standing in a small storage closet of sorts: neatly stacked shelves line the walls from ceiling to floor laden with all manner of "supplies:" sex toys, sex toy cleaning products, lubricants in all sorts of marketable flavours, as well as rubber gloves, wet-wipes, clear tubing, and what look to be a variety of gags. Sampo snorts just the once as he braces himself against one of the shelves with a lace-gloved hand, then peels the other off with his teeth before reaching down to pull his cock out of his panties. )