Erotic PoetryThere's my boy.of two girls playing
in the other room, as if in a movie.
I smoke a cigarette, catch my breath
and slowly return to reality
while he looks on, seeming tired.
I want to touch his thick cock,
freed of the bondage of pants
and restricting boxer briefs.
"Everyone's been stripped but me,"
he says - I see his point
so I kneel before him, reaching.
Working furiously like a queen bee,
I unbuckle his belt and smile
as worn out jeans fall to his feet.
I slide his briefs down, nudging
him softly to step out of them.
Finally, I get my sought-after reward.
His cock fills with blood,
the cool air rushing in to caress it.
There's my boy.
Pushing him back into a chair,
I drizzle down a handful of massage oil.
Smiling up at him, I work it in.
My lips close around his candy cock,
vanilla flavored and warm.
He throbs to an unheard beat.
Now I rise and climb into his lap
like a naughty little girl.
He slips deep inside me.
We move as one, sigh and moan together.
He desires leverage that we lack,
so I am guided to my feet.
Stretched out on the kitchen table
I'm face up, legs spread -
he thrusts, creating a rhythm.
My feet curl over his shoulders,
pressing them together
back behind his neck.
He leans forward and down,
rains gentle kisses
down upon my breasts.
Fitting together like puzzle pieces,
he takes his frustrations out on me.
My orgasm is operatic.
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