Thick hands push into our layers,
Her front skids against our red skin.
We listen to her lax prayers
His hand forces her to grin.
Flecks of our scarlet dust falter,
He shoves harder in, to alter.
Nails dig into our crimson hides,
Her cheek shoved against our false sides.
Skirt lifted, silk shirt torn, hollow,
And make us pink with a light blush,
Her pert nipples then lightly brush,
A thunderous gasp we swallow.
Lips quiver as the orgasm fades.
Red dust has covered her in spades.