Greased Gully

I tilt my slick lips
to you, my hips locking
down, while you slide
your oiled palm over the bends
and creases of my salty banks.

At the steady side to side
swishing, I open my thighs wider
wishing you to fist
your hand, then find
the greased gully that
runs straight up me.

My wish come true, you
knock your balled paw
around my rim, then roll
your force inside, sinking
past wrist to forearm,
your length cleaving my core.

And I want more; my moans
your roadmap to my heart.