The Touch of My Hand

It glides down my chest,
Past my belly button,
Reaches my jeans,
And begins to work on the buckle.

Slowly, it unzips my jeans,
Rims along my panties,
Sends a shiver up my spine,
And fills me with lust.

It nuzzles underneath my panties,
And caresses my smooth flesh,
It absorbs my wetness,
Seeping from within.

It pushes a little deeper,
And feels my warm skin,
Wet and yearning,
Wanting, needing more.

It glides over my lips,
Swollen with passion,
Parts them gently,
And slowly glides in.

I throw my head backward,
My eyes roll back in my head,
The tingling sensation,
Has reached the tips of my toes.

It finds the spot,
The one it knows so well,
And begins to massage it,
More pressure each second.

First, soft and subtle,
Then faster and faster,
As I begin to fill with passion,
With lust.

No man nor woman,
Could compete with its moves,
It knows me better,
Than any being could.

It milks the sweet honey,
From within my soul,
As my back arches up,
And I lose all control.

I feel my sweet wetness,
Flowing from within,
Nothing feels so good,
As the touch of my hand.