Cunnilinguist

I’m sorry I wouldn’t let you sleep last night.

I was hungry and there was only one thing in our room to eat.

Everywhere else was closed so I opened your legs

Peaches and nectarines are aptly used metaphors when dining with such ferocity.

And oh my god the sounds you made.

At one point you squeaked like a chew toy and it was exquisite.

I was dripping your nectar.

My chin was soaked in you,

my fingers were drowning.

The way you planted the soles of your feet on my shoulders

felt like being shackled in place.

As if you were saying,

“rush, go slow, it doesn’t matter.

You’re here until I’m finished.”

And you finished.

It’s the only time I hear you pray,

your cries for forgiveness stifled as best you can.

Your words vibrate from your lips

while your body shudders from head to toe.

And then its over and your weakened body shifts to its side

as a moan slips from your mouth.

Dinner’s over.  My plate is empty.

Closed side on the door.

6 thoughts on “Cunnilinguist

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