” You taste different” he remarks, looking up at me from between my legs.
“Huh? ?” I moan, wedging myself up on my elbows – having not expected a review, a critic at this particular juncture.
“I dunno, I can’t put my finger on it”
I laugh and jokingly tell him to get on with it. His tongue slavers around my swollen clit, then he stops lapping again for a moment.
“Do I ever taste different to you?” His face is creased, he’s genuinely asking me this.
“Baby, no”. I lie back and think about all the cocks I’ve sucked. Could I set them apart by taste alone? Musky, salty, smoky, buttery? Could I identify my past lovers in a sexy line-up of anonymous dicks?
No, I decide.
Although, god. How much fun would that be?