bon appetit -

“taste” … she whispered making sure the “s” lingered on her tongue like syrup … I needed no instruction, but her plea was proper music, nonetheless prelude to pleasurable murmurings from both our gullets, though I put the vibrations of my low, rumbling moan to good use (as any obsequious scoundrel should) her squeaky sigh wrapping my core like a vine, saturating my extremities … another whisper - “tell me … pleeease” I knew exactly what and she knew I couldn’t speak, my mouth being otherwise engaged, so I sounded the syllables letting them rumble slowly … again and that … brought the bloom - both her hands weaving their way through my hair pulling me tightly to her holding … crying out - the sounds of bliss that I lived to hear the sultry song that slayed me … and I? an enormous smile on my face that she couldn’t see, of course but I think, perhaps, she could tell … all the same.