becoming the octopus Hold that pose ten minutes more. That sweet, tempestral pirouette could activate harmonic rhapsody augmenting heavy coital piston. She shifted her— not so it hurt, I mean so that friction expanded… The contortionist choreography created warm nimbus playground lounged below feather comforter, flaunting technique. A slow rake from calve, to that classified spot behind her knee, to inner thigh, then stopping to play the pink with elliptical rhythm, and lewd mind. Her fingers clawed, almost extracted blood, not that I mind anything causing curled toed reflex; and her toes curled, her back arched as we became an octopus of arms and legs akimbo, relaxed in spent radiance. *note: I thought tempestral was a word that held a kind of "spiritual enlightenment" connotation. Alas, it does not; it’s not even a word, but dammit, it stays!
Get me all hot and bothered why dontcha! There was a rollercoaster ride called the Octupus back in my state, I called it the Octupussy!
this poem makes me want to touch myself. teehee. i'll bet you everyone who reads this can relate this perfectly to their mate
sexy... reminds me of the moment you feel as one come as one finish together....... i love the octopus .... love n peace from saff
All smiles here. You combine grace and intensity so well. This reader found your poem visually stunning and mind numbing in its passionate friction. Love the lingering and expansive tantric undertones... or should that be overtones.
candles on porceline lip illumine a jet stirred lather lagoon of steam cloud tentacles and moist, ecologic lubricant that bathes the beginning spot. let these hands roll the reiki catalyst into deep tissue zone; just you relax and roam and we’ll connect tongues to flesh the tantric lullaby escaping in an aching moan. the stage is set. swelled length enters, begins propulsion drive, sink into the seat and ride, hold your forehead to mine, wrap arms around my neck drop and rise and slide. bite your bottom lip, let go, lean back, stretch out when you’ve reached your ceiling: we’ll cruise that altitude. *note: I kinda reworded a line from "heavy metal country" by guided by voices since the song was stuck in my head while I was writing this
Steamy...my only concern was 'wet, hot, and ready'...*cringes* that's a little too obvious. My fav was the end... Love the whole, ceiling and cruising at an altitude idea, really funky shit Fulmahhh... Oooh and is awesome! Sexy tension here.
the tom I warned about i’m incognito among the bushes, under the stars, across the street, binoculars enlarging your window, oh so glad you dumped that guy that’d rush to close your blinds. supple porcelain mountains with pierced tops; yeah hun! rub that tanning lotion in, and do it slow… I know the cool contrast from showers steaming vent gets them hard! if I were older, with iron nerve, I’d ring your bell right now, await your answer, towel clad, and chance the door’s quick close. but you’re lonely, right? unloved? well I’d nibble on your ear until the towel fell; then we’d fuck.
Wowzers....am I even allowed to comment on this?! Well I'll comment anyway! This almost made me wish I had a peeping tom...a horny peepin' tom! as creepy as that is, but it's all your fault, using all that pretty language to entice!
