Riding the Tiger

Not a poem, not great literature. No attempt at either. Just... hmmm... Just how I think.

Sometimes... you know, sometimes, I do, I just want to fuck.

Please, don't get me wrong. I mean it's true, I love to suck and to stroke and to lick and to bite, gnaw, nibble, to grind, rub. But truly? Yeah. In all honesty, sometimes I just want to fuck.

For now I am a painted tiger, roaring fucking beast, tigress, striped and with my head, upper body, pressed deeply down into the dry earth and my haunches open and raw. Raw and naked and up and open. Feral. I spread myself into my position and I wait. I wait for you to pounce.

On me.

I wait for you to pounce on me.

I love that moment. That moment when, with nothing but an acknowledged something, nod, touch, feeeeeeeeeeling, electric charge, it begins.

I'm in bed. Calm. Asleep. But not.

I hear you breathing, gentle, behind me, and I feel my mood heighten and heaten and wetten. I need? Nothing. But to be fed.

And so, I do. You asleep, or not, and me most definitely awake, I lie face down on our bed, pillow to one side, and I bury my face into my sheet. Flat down, from face to lower rib cage, I raise my arse into the air, and I wait. No breath. Take a hint. Here's me tiger-boy. Paint your wildman stripes on, and come dance with me.

And that's it. That moment.

No words, you just awake. Sleepy-boy, you. Awake. You roll on round, slowly, on your knees behind me. No words. No words. Hush. Kneel. Kneel down behind your tiger-grrrl.

In the dark, instinct, you grab those hips of mine, getting my position just so. Right. You slap that arse. Once. Sharp. Hard. Alive. Awake. And then you slide two fingers into that slippery-wettery-ness, testing the waters, feeling the way.

I want your cock. Just do. I just do, babe. Have a yen to be filled. And I stick those stripy haunches back a little to meet that touch. Push.

Push my face into the mattress, as I push you into my depths.

And now.

You slip and slide those digits, in, out, and make me purr. Kitty-grrrl. I purr. And push.

And out. But no hissing me. Oh no. Even untamed, you should not bite the hand that feeds you.

Again you line me up; my target directly in front of you. And grabbing my arse, wide, you push on in. Pause and lean yourself over me, grab those tits, hard, so fucking hard, you. Squeeze and hear me purr.

You fuck me. I want to be fucked. Your cock pounds and pounds into my feline hole, slow at first, you still leaning over me. Holding. And loosening.

While I grip. Grasp. Hold so fucking hard, tight, onto you. Just clamp. And push. Back. To meet your thrust, a little. Feeling the side of my softly soft cheek rasp against the bed, my breasts, nipples, violently rub on that sheet as you beat your rhythm into me. As. You. Beat.

Untamed.

And then. And then I raise me up onto my straightened arms, hands splayed on either side of me. We off we go, just bang. Bang. B-bang. Un, deux, trois.

You thrash on into me, and I think? Nothing. Not one thing. I feel, everything. Just there, then. In that time. With strength, I push right back to meet your force, and look down at where my breasts hang and bounce with your pounds. I watch their swing. And babe? Honestly, I briefly smile to myself, fucking happy. Happy fucking.

Your cock bangs into me at so beautiful a point, so fine, that I feel my upper chest and face just flush, and your swinging balls hit my clit and lips until they smile, just beam at you. And I am lost, enveloped, in that moment, like I need to be. Stopping my own pound, paused, still, and letting your beat be the beat of me, while that roaring rawr-ing pussy squeezes close around and onto you. Miaow.

Beat your last few thrusts into me. Fuck me. See me, now, slam back and meet your rhythm.

And squeezing, she milks you dry, as you just cum on into your stripy swingy roary furry purry grrrrly. Cum, and cum and cum.

I collapse down onto my front, your front onto my back, and when you slide out of me? Hell, who knows, for me and you, we're sleeping the sleep of the jungle.