A trifle wistful

There's often dogged pathos in his voice:  
He cries out loud when I ride him too well;
Fidelity and tenderness, the choice
That can be mine, if I just bounce and tell
Myself that secrets really can be kept,
While looking down at him with doting eyes,
Which are a trifle wistful - I'd have wept
Were he much less endowed - but, he contrives
To fill me deep as his thick, cock attacks
My inner self that needs length; I admire
His jolting thrusts, as he attempts wet cracks
In my physique, that open to desire:
His hardness filling my cunt with sweet joys;
So I forget that pathos in his voice!