Witch's Spittle

She sat astride me, naked and sweaty, at my behest        
With her tumbling raven locks and saggy old breasts        
And she mocked me, with a cackle, enough to belittle        
As I watched her lips drip, with her sour witch's spittle        
       
But I couldn't resist the touch, of her cold, flaccid, flesh        
Or her abundant, brittle thatch, like a woven wire mesh        
For my need was afire, although she'd chosen, to choke        
With her, livery, skeletal hands, compressing my throat        
       
It was far too late, to escape, from her vice like thighs        
I felt my tongue swelling, as was, the bulge of my rise        
I tried to desist, but I couldn't repel, her malevolent will        
And under, a sorceresses spell, I would inevitably, spill        
       
I was fading fast, so I tried to inhale, or just taste the air        
But she squeezed, even harder, demanding, that I share        
I was trapped, with her astride, I was helpless, beneath        
As her putrefied breath fell, through the rot of her teeth        
       
The ecstasy was agonizing, but her throttling, did wane        
As I, fulfilled, our salaciousness and with acidity, came        
And we gasped, with mutual relief, for passion is fickle        
Before she cackled and loosed, her sour witch's spittle