I know exactly what you are. A spit slut. So eager to get all messy for me and embarrass yourself. So desperate and willing to do whatever it takes for the chance to feel my sticky saliva dripping all down your face. Maybe if you’re lucky I might grab your hair and aim a juicy one directly into your mouth. It makes me laugh how grateful you spit sluts are. I bet you wouldn’t hesitate if I told you to get down on the floor while I stand over you and absolutely cover you head to toe would you? Leave you completely soaked and dripping in a sticky puddle beneath me. The best bit about spit sluts like you is that I barely have to try, meanwhile you can barely hold yourself together! All I have to do is let the spit slowly build in my mouth and laugh at how excited it makes you. A lazy flick of my tongue, a teasing rub against my glossy lips, and you're ruined. Mouth open, watching me sensually coat my fingers, letting my spit stretch between them in thick, glistening strands before I slowly drag them across my tongue and lips. I take my time because I know you're not going anywhere. You're trapped, stroking helplessly, mouth open and begging for my spit like a good little slut. Make sure you open nice and wide for me. Every string of saliva I play with is another chain wrapping around your neck, pulling you deeper into permanent submission to me and my spit. I don't need to raise my voice. I don't even need to command you. My presence alone has you leaking, your pathetic cock throbbing helplessly in your hand while you try your best to imagine what it would feel like having my divine spit dripping down onto you one drop at a time. You'd do anything for that chance. Crawl. Beg. Empty your wallet. You'd debase yourself completely just to be my personal spit rag for five minutes, owned by my saliva, utterly dominated by something I don't even value enough to swallow. It’s a privilege only a lucky few get to experience, and you have to earn it, so impress me.