Salt

I ache for you.

The more I get, the thirstier I become. I’m a teenager on a never-ending phone call inside my soul, watching the hours tick away and it still feels like I just started the conversation.

I cannot get enough of you and it kills me.

You’re salt.

No, not “your” salt.

You are salt.

Each time I lick you, I need more. When I lick your thoughts, I need another. When I lick your laugh, I want another. When I lick your orgasm, I need another one so fucking bad it kills me inside.

I need “your” salt.

I need it so fucking bad now.

I need your perfume enveloping me as I push you down onto the bed and put your arms above your head and secure them with my tie. As I pull your clothes off, flip your legs back, I need your salt on my tongue as I lick your wetness.

As my tongue meets your beautiful clit, I might start to feel satiated, but doubt it. I need to see your body break for me and hear your screams and moans.

Maybe then, I won’t be thirsty, but I doubt it.

I know I will just need more.

As I force you to cum and squirt all over the bed and see in your face that you are somewhere between smiling and crying, I might possibly not need more, but I know myself with you, and if there is more to be had, that is exactly what I need.

Squeezing the air out of you as my cock feeds you and I see you are in heaven as I fill your sweet wet pussy with everything I am as a man.

Watching you cum with my eyes inches from yours and our vulnerability on full display for one another.

Now, and only now, can I feel satisfied. When I no longer need your salt.

Until the next time.


Originally published at The Romantic Dominant.