I'm hungry.
I want to swallow him down. I want to feel him thrusting in and out of my mouth, my head filled with the scent him. I crave his hands on the back of my head, fingers entwined in my hair, holding me in place while he fucks my face, forcing his cock down my throat filling my mouth with his cum.
I love when he has me lick the cum from his fingers. When he cums across my chest, dipping his fingers into the droplets that have landed on my nipples or stomach, and feeds them to me. I devour his cum, licking and sucking his fingertips with enthusiasm.
I search my memory for the taste of him. He tastes like salted edamame; mild, tender, with a slightly green quality, and I crave it.
My hunger doesn't lessen after having feasted, my gluttony for his body only increases. I gorge myself, starved for the feel of him. I am insatiable.
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1 comment:
that edamame metaphor was incredible. i feel like i know exactly what you mean-- i can imagine, somehow, the way that a man could taste like edamame.
yum!!! :)
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