Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.
You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.
Click hereTwo past midnight, when the phone rings.
The 'smug' in my smile, knows that it's you.
Bass in your hello, one octave too low
a canned heat type of mellow, seeping through
Instantly, I know you've found
the souvenir, my gift to you
slipped under your pillow, for restless nights
French cut, black lace, optimum rear view.
They wear me still, like fine perfume
and permeate your sensory gates.
I need neither lease, nor key.
Osmosis grants me your headspace.
Close your eyes. Let me slip behind
your lids, play backbeat to your every stroke.
Massage your ear drum from the inside
out, whispering wet, sweet and low.
I hear your slip, over the edge.
All falls away, but my voice, in the night.
My smile slices darkness, at the sound
of French cut black lace, covered in white.
Holy Shnikies! Yeah...I have nothing even remotely interesting or useful to say only...DAYUM girl! My eyes are singed from the heat and I think all the ice in my freezer just melted (damn you!it's 82 degrees in my digs, I needed that ice!) but it was so worth the burn. This poem is on fire yet is written so well it reads smooth and cool as chilled silk.