Pack

the sky-clad initiates surround you,
twenty-four breasts, twelve delightful pubic thatches

waiting their turns as she strokes you.
Your back arches to pursue her

as she cruelly removes her hand once again.
This is how you control them,she says.

They will do anything to regain your touch.
She brings you to her lips,

flicks a drop of your seed to the multitude
of assembled virgins, their gaping mouths

eager to gather it like a bridal bouquet.
You may have him now,she tells them.

They rush forth, battling for position, the fastest
impaling herself on your cock,

two jockey for position to nurse on your balls,
one rides your mouth, grinding herself into you.

Every inch of your body is covered by their thirsty tongues,
and when their teeth elongate, rip your ears from your head,

swallow your testes like meatballs, and they pour their juices
down your throat and siphon your cock like a gas tank,

you don't mind so much.