The Firm

She said, "Brit, listen, the man’s thing is proud,
At one point, I felt like I was floating on a cloud,
A marvel so intense, like a gem in the night,
Stood tall and majestic, bathed in soft light.

"It’s hard, so firm, like a rock in the sea,
Every inch of it rigid, a sight to make you weak-kneed.
The skin stretched tight, over the head’s bold flair,
A true work of art, exquisitely rare.

My fingers traced gently, trying to capture the feel,
The smooth, taut texture, so vivid and real.
"The head, oh, it’s gleaming, dark as the midnight sky,
Glossy and rich, like a forbidden delight.

My voice dropped low, with a sultry tease,
Describing the build-up, the way it aims to please.
"It moves with a rhythm, a dance and a play,
Building up the heat in a wicked, tantalizing way."

I painted the scene with vivid, rhythmic grace,
Describing the sensation as it sets the pace.
"When it finally erupts, with a force so strong,
It’s like a tidal wave of pleasure, where you truly belong."

My excitement grew with each breathless detail,
Every touch, every pause, a vivid tale.
"It’s worth the wait, every tease and delay,
The climax so sweet, it sweeps you away."

Brit, you need to know, the image is clear,
Of that proud shaft, a memory sincere.
In the soft glow of evening, with a story so grand,
The scene of that power took its own bold stand.