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Whipped...
They
say I'm whipped
like
a slave being whipped by his master
every
stroke you administer to my open wounds
just
makes me want you more
whip me
'til I cry, 'til I beg you to stop
but....don't
listen to my words
see
the lust in my eyes, put your hand on my heart
feel
the way my tongue slithers down your throat
how
thirsty I am for a taste of that sweet pussy nectar you possess
close
your eyes and imagine my long delicate fingers
sliding
up your dress
a
low soft moan escapes your lips
as
I slowly make circles around your clit
the
wetness of your love slides down my fingertips
forming
a fountain, a monument to your passion
with
a slow aching thrust of your hips you urge me on
to
venture into areas never before touched...until now
the
pursuit of ultimate pleasure
the
kind that sets your mind on fire
that
even in a desert where everything is dry
for
miles and miles the earth is parched and barren
the
wetness between your thighs
can
make this desert green again
save
some for me for I am thirsty
let
me drink from your fountain of eternal wetness
let me
dine on your throbbing lips of pleasure
they
say I'm whipped and I'm proud of it.
Dean
Jéan-Pierre
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