It's the taste.


He kisses every part of my skin. Indulged in the texture of silk and velour. It’s the gentle aggression titrating into my body. A soft trance takes over. He isn’t the first one. To be taken unaware, by the inescapable aroma. A wild mask worn. He tastes, I watch. I find him deeper in this realm than ever before. Gasping for air as if it impossible to separate but for a few moments of air. Deep grumbles escape from him as he devours me. An all-encompassing kiss of my pussy. “It’s the taste of you,” he says, “it’s the taste of you.” Ravaged and satisfied I lay there. It’s the taste of me. It’s my poison that fiends, a nectar that feeds. Inescapable and always desired. It’s the taste of me, it changes you. - Eve

DiaryEve LemeurComment