Content Warning : Do you want to continue?
This poem contains content which some readers may find disturbing.
It is unsuitable for children or anyone who is easily offended.
YES
I am over 18 years old, I have been warned and I still want to read this poem.
I am over 18 years old, I have been warned and I still want to read this poem.
NO
I don't want to read this type of content, take me back to the previous page.
I don't want to read this type of content, take me back to the previous page.
deepundergroundpoetry.com
GLISTENING IS THE TIP
You present without blush
your shining wettened bush.
Between the lips I push.
Glistening is the tip
that into you I dip,
Amidst wetness it slip.
My precum at its fore
promises there'll come more
at climax of the score.
I move my body, rock
upon you, as my cock
makes your legs round me lock.
I grind upon your clit,
while I play with your tit,
twiddle and suck on it.
You pull me ever hard
onto yourself. I'm scarred
by fingernails not barred.
It only spurs me more
to dig deep in your core.
How firm your pelvic floor.
Your walls contracting round
me make a slapping sound
at my continued pound.
You beg me to cum soon,
or else, you fear, you'll swoon.
You beat me with wood spoon.
My seed, so long held back,
starts to depart my sac,
spraying your walls. Moves slack.
You respond like fountain,
anointing my mounting.
Hearts race beyond counting.
your shining wettened bush.
Between the lips I push.
Glistening is the tip
that into you I dip,
Amidst wetness it slip.
My precum at its fore
promises there'll come more
at climax of the score.
I move my body, rock
upon you, as my cock
makes your legs round me lock.
I grind upon your clit,
while I play with your tit,
twiddle and suck on it.
You pull me ever hard
onto yourself. I'm scarred
by fingernails not barred.
It only spurs me more
to dig deep in your core.
How firm your pelvic floor.
Your walls contracting round
me make a slapping sound
at my continued pound.
You beg me to cum soon,
or else, you fear, you'll swoon.
You beat me with wood spoon.
My seed, so long held back,
starts to depart my sac,
spraying your walls. Moves slack.
You respond like fountain,
anointing my mounting.
Hearts race beyond counting.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 2
reading list entries 0
comments 0
reads 335
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.