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I see when you think I am not looking.
Your desires and needs reflected deep in your eyes.
How you play with your hair.
The slouched posture that you think I don’t realize,
and how you manage to rub against that seam in your jeans.
I see the vacant stare behind the conversation.
Don’t think it goes unnoticed or that your scent escapes me.
It teases me to know you can see me grow hard for you.
The desire to beg, the promises I would offer all stop dead,
tangled in thin black lace.
Every movement seems contrived to prove my helplessness.
I ache as you bend, walk or simply stand before me.
Do you want to see me writhing in the agony your hands deny me?
Is it too much to want to feel another’s touch?
I know, do you?
I know that the agony would only begin if you untied me.
Or if you removed your panties from my mouth.
I know the real agony would begin when this all ends.
Slowly running from deep inside you no longer a need.
I know that this is not the agony but the pleasure before it.
I know that when you ask me
where do I want to cum that the agony comes with me.
