Dio and Creed - Going down on my baby (Patreon)
Content
And then there's a look. Not a grand speech or a suggestion, merely a look. An angling of his eyebrow and a sly smirk. It says so many things, but all of them coalesce into a single want: Me.
A bull's tongue is an eloquent speaker, and Creed makes a soliloquy within my mouth. He makes love to my tongue and fills my mouth with his saliva. I want to drink it like fine wine.
My body quivers and moves on its own. Suddenly, saliva is sweet, but not good enough. I need something more viscous in my mouth. In my desperation, I can't close my mouth fast enough. A beautiful blend of juice drips from my tongue as my knees go weak. I descend upon Creed.
Unless I'm unable to speak for the next three days, I won't be satisfied.