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Click hereSlices of a perfect peach
ring your pouting pudenda.
I nibble them one by one,
sweet juices dripping on
your moistening cleft.
I savour the final slice
before my tongue moves
down to lap your honey
pot, the commingling of
sweet and salty facilitated by
your involuntary shudders.
I can resist no longer
but must use my rigid rod
to stir your vibrant vessel
thrusting deeply until our
mutual climax releases
my creamy effusion.
In repose, we share a
glass of chilled Riesliing
and slices of a second
perfect peach, dipped in
our delectable discharges.