Flavour Text I’ve tasted you, girl. I know the tartness, and the slight saltiness that dan

Flavour Text I’ve tasted you, girl. I know the tartness, and the slight saltiness that dances around my mouth, across my face, a smeared swathe of you, the kind that I’ll be catching scents of for days. I know your flavour, and I know it’s far from unpleasant.  So I wonder, for a moment, why your nose wrinkles when I force my fingers, sodden with you, past your lips. I entertain, for a second, that you might find this all distasteful, that having your wetness on your tongue isn’t something that you want to be doing. The literalist in my head thinks that this is because you don’t like the taste. The literalist, as always, fails to see the bigger picture. You wrinkle your nose, and you struggle, and you squirm, and you most importantly blush, not because you don’t like the taste, but because you do. Because you’re enjoying this all a little too much, this little capsule of depravity, a snapshot of humiliation with you as the focus of the image. It’s making you squirm in all the right ways, and that makes you feel so very very wrong.  So you turn your face away from my hand as it comes up. You shake your head, your eyebrows arch upwards in a silent plea. But you suck my digits like a good girl, because you are a good girl. And you’ll suck these fingers clean of your taint, as delicious as it is, because it gets the reaction I savour every time. That uncomfortable mix of embarrassment and arousal, the kind that has you squirming in such a specific way. And then, dear girl, I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to forgot about whether you feel embarrassed, or humiliated. You’re going to stop thinking about the depravity of all of this, about whether you’re a pervert, about whether this is right. You’re just going to squeeze that lovely little cunt around me, and you’re going to moan a pretty song for me.  -- source link

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