You trail my body, in profane whispers
as teeth, gnash, above you.
Fingers, play your spine;
hands, rub up, your back, and neck,
and waterfall down, again,
like party streamers,
as my lips, seek,
every heated,
vanishing inch, of you.
Secret moans, escape vibrating chords.
Steam, from a rattling kettle.
You snake your way,
down peaks, and valleys.
I lift my head, to suckle
Your thick fingers,
as they rub, roughly, hungrily,
over aching *******,
but instead, they twine,
like a boa constrictor,
around my open throat,
as you latch on, to one pink bud,
and abuse it, with your tongue.
You laugh,
diabolical;
Hell, heavy in your grin.
Your thick member dances,
and sways, before my eyes.
Svengalian, in its torment.
Dizzying me,
as I choke, with a tensing throat
...charmed,
lured, forward,
to meet its one-eyed gaze...
but then,
you tell me,
you'll only **** me,
if my begging pleas,
my cries,
for my Sir, to fill me,
can work their way past,
their narrowing windpipe.
I claw, with catlike intensity,
at your wrist, and arm.
Tiger-striping you,
as you squeeze.
My tongue, grows too heavy,
for its moist cell...
and lolls out, as glassy eyes, roll up.
Oh, Mister...if I black out...
I only hope, that I wake up,
with your shaft, searing my tongue,
and your glaze,
laquering, repainting,
my made-up face.
Vision swims back;
but you slither, downward:
a fork tongued serpent,
dithering, in the garden.
Your knuckles, are tinted:
red, and white, with tension.
You grip my ankles,
and fan, creamy legs,
to their outer limits--
your mouth, urging my poppy,
to bloom, euphoric.
I scream,
in a hoarse voice:
I scream, for you,
to devour my passionfruit:
to bathe your tongue, in it,
so I can polish your aching rod,
with my forbidden citrus...
but you ****, and roll,
the hard seed,
with languid,
languorous motions,
feasting on the rind,
until I'm shaking, spasming
thrusting, upwards,
in a mindless,
fevered sweat...
an oasis, pooling
around burning thighs.
I want to ride, your face;
I want to suffocate you,
until your cheeks, suffuse,
with color,
and you struggle, to breathe.
I want you, to grip my thick hips,
to feel me, melt;
to see me glow, above you,
lit from within,
like egg tempera,
on canvas skin.
But your flogger, drives down,
and jolts me, from my reverie.
It drives, hard,
down my nakedness,
seemingly splitting
delicate pink buds, in two,
as I scream, and writhe, pathetically
under each blow,
in a helpless
surrender.
Welts, are already blossoming;
recoloring ample *******,
under braided,
leather strips.
Your arm, rises, and falls,
pistonlike
with a professional wrist snap,
again...and again.
I howl; *******,
bruised:
wanton,
in my want, of you.
...I guess it's my turn,
to wear the stripes, now.
