Feeding

"Oh, c'mon now, ya know it's true,
how I said I don't get into this
for the prize of the great orgasm
at the end of the long, repetitive,
devouring state of the fuck,"
she groaned.

Leaning down and slopping
and slurping in perfected motion,
tickling fingers plunge into scratches
then go back into soft circles
up his back, and then down
again into the taboo hole.

He's not really listening now.
She likes to make confessions
in the middle of his foggy trances,
and so goes on to finish her thought,
"It's this power, this overwhelming,
and undeniable immersion of my self
into your mind and your pleasure.
I don't feel any of my own pleasure
until you're at the brink of yours.
That power is worse than a drug.
That is my reward for sex -
not the bloody orgasm I can't get
without my own fingers doing it for me."

He says, "God, you're so fucking good,"
as he plunges perfectly into her,
fulfilling the connection of feelings,
letting her feed on his mind
while he revels in her rolling hips.