#tongue
For some of you who wanted to see my tongue…..
Lalalalala
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UroDisco, insisting:“Really, which part of ‘Don’t use the toilet, use me!’ didn’t you understand?”
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Hours before my ovarian cyst ruptured, I was having the time of my life! I had a great breakfast with Eman, drank my tequila, hosted an erotic game night and cooked for my friends. I Spent a portion of my weekend with the ones I love in complete enjoyment, and once my body started paining me, my friends and family came together to make sure I was okay. This experience has taught me to slow down and care for myself first before anything, and allow myself to be cared for. I give so much and do so much for others, and I need to take more time to care for myself. I’m so grateful for god’s presence and lessons in all things, and I’m grateful for your grace too. Thank you for encouraging me to take care of myself before anything. Love y’all❤️
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#glamazontyomi #tongue #blue #chicago #natural #live #life #behappy #selfcare #selflove #slowdown (at Chicago, Illinois)
https://www.instagram.com/p/BxJOK13At_a/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1inq1jm6e959y
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The words claw at my
lips, begging to be released,
but my mouth is like
Pandora’s box, tongue
capable of unleashing
disaster on man.
They had a little game that they would play.
She’d close her eyes, and he’d put something on his finger. Usually a sauce, or something similar. Honey, yoghurt, mustard. That sort of thing. The object wasn’t to make her be disgusted or surprised. The trick was in getting her to use every tastebud, figure out what it was that was on his finger, and identify it.
No purpose, really, but it was always fun. Always a little erotic.
But she wouldn’t let his finger go. Even once she’d licked whatever it was clean, once it had started to prune in her mouth, she’d carry on holding onto it. It wasn’t the honey, or the yoghurt, or the mustard, that she wanted to taste. It wasn’t that that she was training her tastebuds for. No, it was him. Just him. The faint musk of his skin, the ever so slight saltiness of whatever sweat and oils was on fingertips and fingers.
That, then, was what she savoured. The challenge was to be able to taste him, after her tongue had just been bombarded with whatever it was. The challenge was to find that faint musk, that slight saltiness, and revel in it.
She was getting pretty good at it.
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