Night Owl

Night Owl

Night Owl laying in the dark, reading erotic poems on her phone, getting increasingly turned on but she is on her own

One hand on her mobile phone the other slides between her thighs, she can feel her wetness, to her it's no surprise

The poets words do their job, they always make her wet, but this one is just about her, it's his hottest poem yet

As she reads his words her finger do their sexy work, they dance along her pussy's lips, they give her clit a jerk

It's hard to read his poetry when your body writhes in ecstasy, your imagining he's their with you, you start yo beg and plea

Now you are at the point where a few fingers just won't do, you have to put your phone down, you know what you must do

You reach into your special draw, you bring out your favourite toy, soon he is humming, you call him your poet boy

You run him around your hungry lips then push him deep inside, thrusting him back and forth, your toy you start to ride

Head thrown back into your pillow, orgasm courses through your veins, deep pulsating pleasure send endorphins to your brain

Time and time again you cum, you've soaked your Satin sheet, exhausted and saited your poets job's complete

Your wipe him clean and get washed up, new sheets go on the bed, you close your eyes and try to sleep, with me inside your head

Ron