When he bites my groin, the taste spreads slowly. It can be sweet, salty, fresh—sometimes all at once. There are parts that awaken the tongue with vivacity, others that spice it up. The juice flows lightly, carrying with it the flavor, the madness, and the heat. Each bite holds a possible sensation: hot moans, hands sticky with honey, naughty laughs, simple pauses, and abrupt thrusting motions. The taste isn't just about taste—it's sensation, it's lust, it's presence.