Tsunami

TSUNAMI

     Your cock is an enigma to me – I feel proper introductions are long
overdue.  I find myself aching from the interminable wait, and my bold pussy
convulses with impertinent impatience at the mere idea.  I want to know
every millimeter, from its woolly root to its sweet, luscious, ripened cherry-
like tip.  I want to rouse it from its torpid dormancy and release its potential.  
I want to provoke it with my hot breath and drag my lips along its entire
length to antagonize it and make it emerge and face me head-on.

     I want to then apologize to it for my uncouth savagery with moist feather-
soft kisses.  I want to wrap my hands around it, and caress it and coax it like
potters’ clay, until it stands:  stately, plumb, fearless, staunched, and
surrendered, tremulously awaiting the next stage of fulfillment.

     I want to hear your gasps and feel your shudders as my full, warm lips
and my wet, tippling tongue pay tribute to your habitually overlooked
scrotum, and then educate you on that perineal, yet perennially undetected,
point of delight found just behind.  I want to hear your unqualified agreement
to that which I do.  

     I want to then return to it, to directly taste its heat and feel its musky
flavor.  I want to savor its hardness, yet indulge myself with this most
sumptuous and exquisite of delicacies.  I want you to watch me as I
unabashedly pen my sonnets on it with my tongue.  I want to delve my
tongue into its crevices, and tenderly tickle it and tantalize it until it twitches
in response.

     I want to let it sink onto my tongue and into my mouth, as though my
mouth was a deep, soft, and comfortable recliner.  I want to hear your
moans of concurrence as I randomly spin and swirl and whirl and whorl my
tongue down its long neglected paths, raising and dropping my mouth on it
thirty-forty-fifty-fold.  I want to hear your ardent vocalizations, refuting all
disbelief in unseen deities too riveted by our activities to avert their
unblinking eyes.

     I want to then mount that lovely engorged shaft and churn on it like
making sweet cream butter.  I want to cloak it completely in my warmest
embrace until it shimmers like a donut freshly dipped in sweet honeyed
glaze.  I want to envelop it in my firm grasp, a resolute coxswain to pilot the
stroke.  I want to tease it with variation and teach it to dance.  

     I want to lead it repeatedly to the verge of totality, backing down only far
enough to allow for a running start to further plateaus to be encountered, an
enthrallingly slow ascent of this stairway of bliss.  I want to unquestionably
convince it of my unfaltering and unyielding relentlessness.  I want to
ravenously and earnestly devour it until this ancient hunger is at last replete
and satiated.  I want to watch your eyes, as they too penetrate me, for my
cue.

     I want to relinquish the reins as I dismount – only to simply turn around,
my pet, as your cue has now been transfigured into my cue to you – to bring
your feet under you in preparation to cross that race-wire; to seize my hips
with your hands and rear yourself upright as I lean away from you…

     … for I want to now offer it my depth, in eager exchange for your
untamed plunging primal speed, your emphatic thrusts and your precision  
propulsion as I, with consummate willingness and sublimely disoriented
carnal staccato utterances, soaring and plunging in pitch and volume, utterly
and fully succumb and submit myself.  

     I want it to know my adoration as my pussy, tightened to its closest
minimum dimension with this ecstatic rapture, finally undulates in a tsunami
with my climax of crested compressing throbs against its own
correspondingly quaking shores, actuating its white-hot-white-hot-white
volcanic response.  And then I want to do it again, and again, and again…

     The only relevant question that remains is:    Is that what you want too?