Your fascination with Goddess’s spit has reached a fever pitch. It consumes you entirely. As you stroke, you can’t help but fantasize about what it would be like to possess a bottle of my divine saliva. Would you swallow it eagerly? Treasure it? Stroke with it? The possibilities seem endless.
Perhaps it’s the intimacy of the idea, something so personal that would never be shared with you without a hefty price tag. Obtaining it organically is out of the question. You’ll never taste a kiss from me, never come close enough to truly savor me. So you do what you can—pretend. Kneel and open wide, for it’s time to “savor” my spit.
