the life and musings of a kinky slut


~ a poem ~

My hands in his hair.
Guiding his tongue along, around my clit.
Brushing his bristly beard in languid strokes up and down my pussy.
My legs resting on his shoulders as he devours me.

His hands in my hair.
Guiding my mouth along his shaft.
Bobbing my head back and forth on his cock.
Pushing my face further.
Pushing his cock deeper.
His two feet planted on the floor, commanding the room.

My hands on the edge of the couch.
Supporting my weight.
My body bent over.
My hips high in the air.
My ass begging, pleading for my cunt.
Wanting nothing more than his cock inside my very wet pussy.

His hand stroking his cock.
Him looking at me.
Waiting for my plea.
Waiting for the word he loves to hear drip from my lips.


My hands gripping the cushion.
Pushing back against the strength of him.
Pushing back onto him.
Pushing him further into me.

His hands on my hips.
Rocking my body.
Powering forward.
Thrusting, pumping, fucking me right.

My hand brushing hair out of my face.
His hand gripping my strands again.

My hand reaching back to rub my clit.
His hand squeezing my cheek and then smacking my ass.


Bodies and pussy and cock and cums.
And hands.

Categorised as: Erotica | Gen Fiction | Poem | Sex

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One Comment

  1. Love this, so very much. When I first got together with my lover, I very much noticed the importance of hands.