After the Show

Is that your friends I hear
Calling your name?
Looking for you after the show?
They don't know where you've slunk off to
They don't understand you like I do, do they?

Whose voice do you like better,
The concerned prattle of your fellow socialite
Or the whispered steam of your friend in the night?
I'll kiss your eardrums with the sexy hum of your own name
Spoken with golden lust while we play our little game
In the dark amidst the bottles of discarded imported wine
While my rough hands up your Irish thighs they slide.
Stop me if I grip your tits too hard
Or choke your throat in a way that doesn't get you off
Stop my if when I bend you over
You don't burn from your belly throughout your body

Aching for my thickness
We'll have to make this quick miss
I think I hear them coming closer
What would they do if they found out who was fucking you
Found out how to satistfy that itch that lies inside you?
Would they approve of the nasty things you let me do?
How you dream about my cock while they talk over coffee

Suck my finger while I thumb your clit
Perhaps the shimmer of your sweat will distract those chicks
They can see how hot this gets you
Smell your sex from miles away
Feel the heat that radiates from your upturned pussy
Maybe taste the sweat between those tits
So salty and delish
They might hear you scream if I hadn't shoved my throbbing cock down that eager throat of yours.
Banging that pretty face of yours.
Aw, hun, your make up is smudging, running black streaks down your face.

I'm not sure you'll get away with your façade this time. I want more, but I can wait. Your friends need to know you'll still go home with them. Keep you out of the woods, away from the wolves.