I don’t need to touch myself, I only need to think of you, and words well up from my heart and shoot stickily into the air, dribbling down the sides of my throbbing soul.
I only need to hear your voice and words squirt from my mind and splatter onto the page.
I want you to watch me write, to see me type, phrases trickling down my chin.
I want to cover you with my sentences, drench your breasts with my paragraphs, fill your depths with hot viscous chapters of my sweet filth. Swallow, don’t spit my salty clauses, and let me lick my verses from your belly.
You make me cum, all wanky and spunky, sure, but what really thrills me about you is the way you make me come words.