Inside My Mouth | Weeks Of Intimate Access, Now Yours

This has been where you never could. Slipped between my lips every morning and night, pumping in and out, my mouth warm and open, accepting it completely. I've always been thorough, devoted, taking my time with each stroke.
The bristles worn soft from my enthusiasm, the handle gripped tight in my palm, my jaw working, tongue pressing against it, guiding it deeper. Sometimes I catch myself in the mirror, cheeks hollowed, eyes half-lidded, and I have to look away, flush rising on my neck. My faith teaches discipline, but my body has its own responses to such persistent, rhythmic attention.
Mint and something sweeter. The flavour of my toothpaste faded, but my saliva's imprint remains, soaked into the base of the bristles where the plastic meets the brush. I've run my tongue over this handle more times than I can count, a nervous habit, a private moment of contact. The faintest marks from my teeth when I've pressed too hard, wanting more sensation, more pressure, my mouth greedy and unguarded.
For someone who understands that true desire lives in these domestic intimacies, these daily violations we perform on ourselves. Someone who wants to possess what has plumbed my most expressive opening, what has made me gag slightly, water at my eyes, and kept going anyway.
Used exclusively for four weeks. Never rinsed with anything but my own sp*t.

15.00 USD 150

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Toothbrush Sp*t Clean Used