Instinct

I sometimes wonder what he's thinking when
My tongue is pressed against him; and his hand
Is pushing round my head; so, that I blend
With him more deeply than I'd hoped; he's planned
His actions well before, I do not doubt;
Or, is it simply instinct to control
The depth of my depravity? I'll pout
To kiss his anal rim and, then, his hole;
And he will celebrate - a little moan
Followed by grunts of pleasure, as my tongue
Explores his (well-washed) anus; he will own
My every flicking movement 'til he's done
With slow masturbation, as I wonder
If he will come right now or seek more plunder...