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Click hereHe lifts me gently
With callused, masculine hands
Cradling my neck in his palm
His fingers curling, resting
Finding their home
His caress navigates
Reads the smooth lines
And angles of my neck like brail
Coaxing shallow moans
From my hollow depths
His fingers tread my curves
And take their position
Seek the lines
Of my intricate figure
He tickles and teases
In playful torture
And knows I will confess
To any crime
Anywhere
Any time
His fingers flutter and dance
Over my taut frame
Releasing butterflies in my belly
Walks the sinew of my body
A master of tight rope
Plucks my lithe strings
Hits all the right notes
Eyes shut, lost in me
He knows my form well
Doesn’t need to see
To know how good this hurts
His rugged flicks
Stroke me into submission
Ego-maniacal, sadistic
He wants me to beg
Hurts so good
I no longer care
Never want to stop
Singing for him
To him
Oh…God….
Yes…
Right…..there…
So perfect in his rhythm
Just the right stroke
Does ungodly things to me
And I am always willing
Right…..
There……
Don’t….move
Finds my chords
Every time
I just want him
To play me until
I am reduced to splinters
A jagged pile of wood
And strings
Fit for nothing
But kindling
What a lovely burn
use matches very well! The intensity builds from stanza to stanza and doesn't leave your reader a pile of ash at the conclusion, but the fire keeps burning warmly. Nicely done! ~JaneAusten
Sassy, you nailed it. Great job. I agree that the last stanza could stand alone. It's wonderful.
That last stanza is so fantastic it could almost stand alone! What a lovely burn indeed! :D