My tongue traces the hard edges of his delicious form, the succulent curves of his body giving way to salty tangy succulence. With each stroke of my tongue he quivers, an exquisite blend of pleasure and pain that leaves us both wanting more.
Greyson’s taste was like a meadow in spring; fresh, heady, and clothed in a dewy sweetness that left me wanting more. His arousal built with each passing stroke of my tongue and as I slowly devoured his manhood I felt transfixed in a maelstrom of pleasure.