How long would you eat me for

You're looking at a pussy so perfectly presented it stops your scroll cold, demanding your full attention before you can think to move on.

You feel the question land somewhere low in your body, less like words and more like a dare. You imagine parting those thighs yourself, taking your time, making the answer something worth bragging about.

You already know the honest answer would embarrass you with its eagerness. You'd lose track of time completely, surfacing only when your jaw ached and your name had been called out more than once.