Stroke

Moonlight
And little more
Are all we have tonight.
 
She leans back,
Letting my arm hold both hers,
Willingly helpless
As my free hand softly,
Slowly,
Even tremulously,
Slips to the very edge
Of the scant silk about her waist,
And I hear a timid whisper
Wafting through the air:
Please.
 
She gasps
Suddenly
As my fingers
Slip under that
Meager cover of silk
And begin to
Tenderly tickle her;
 
She squirms,
Frustrating my rhythm;
 
And the night air is
Cautiously punctuated
With little whimpers:
Yes,
Yes,
Fuck,
Yes,
As though
She doesn’t want
To admit to herself
The mounting delight;
 
And I lay my lips
To her ear
Even as she leans into me,
Still resisting the pleasure,
Unable to deny it.
 
But,
As my teeth tug
Ever so slightly
At her earlobe,
She shatters the quiet
With an unmitigated cry
Of ardent shock.
 
Trembling,
Hot and wet,
She bites her lip
Attempting to compose herself
And,
Flustered,
Murmurs:
More
Please?