Author Topic: Erotic Poetry Stand (Read 9300 times)

Clay Death · « **Reply #90 on:** September 03, 2016, 09:18:45 pm »

Wednesday

by anythinghewants

It was a Wednesday.
It was a favorite skirt -
grey, ruffles, short,
just long enough to look demure,
innocent,
from certain angles,
but short enough to
show enough
when the moment was right.

I sat by him on a beach that day,
a beach designed for children.
And underneath my clothes,
a blue bikini,
dark blue.
I wanted to take off the
clothes, wear the dark blue bikini
take off the bikini,
wear him.
But instead,
because people were close, always,
he gave me a story to read,
a story pretending to be
about French Louie
but in reality,
about roller coaster rides,
hard nipples, exposed pussies
public orgasms.
A story that made
the heat rise low inside,
made my face flush,
made me want.

And later,
no bikini,
only skin under clothes,
spreading legs,
wondering if he noticed,
if he could see
what I wanted him to see.
Even with the others people
everywhere, always,
I didn't care.
Too hot,
too wet,
to ready, ready, ready for anything.

Then there was
a chance meeting
on the road,
(could it be
luck, or
something else?)
"Can i come with you?"
"Go to the other house."

And he met me there,
empty place, half abandoned;
a magic wand,
a counter top,
skin on skin
my nipple lost inside his mouth.
He could lift me,
move me,
tell me where,
how to be,

Anything....

So squatting, low,
looking up, eyes on his face,
his **** pushed far,
past teeth, tongue
all the way down my throat,
so far,
on the verge of choking,
but not quite.
(i'm alive for this:
the throb, the warmth, musk;
essence of him pouring
down into
the inside.
Just let me,
swallow, again, swallow, again
digest this,
consume it,
make it myself.
Keep looking up,
look at his face.)

He ran away,
before anyone could wonder. . . .
I understood,
I always understood.

But moments later,
all the pleasure,
wracking through me,
shaking, electric,
throb throb throb,
****, outside and inside
consuming,
pulsing with ecstasy
again and again.
I couldn't stop
for what seemed like
a long, long time.
And after,
Legs so weak,
hands shaking,
hard to move.

Finally, the calm,
the rush of happy
after the vortex.
And I walked down the hill,
found him again,
surrounded now,
by people.
Glanced his way,
felt the secret burning
in my mind,
still wet and hard,
trembling,
still beating,
a living thing,
bursting at my seams.

(But I was made
to keep secrets like this
to hide them
somewhere,
in the deep of my throat,
under my skirt,
far back,
down,
up inside
Forever.)

CAMELOT FANTASIES

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Author Topic: Erotic Poetry Stand (Read 9300 times)

Clay Death

Re: Erotic Poetry Stand

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