Prajapathi, after sucking

I told you, don’t moan,
I told you not to make slurpy sounds
When you run your mouth over my dick,
And you were hurt that I said so,
And later, on that, a quarrel you would pick.

You say that there should be no barriers to desire.
I contradict that, specially as your
Small son watches the cartoons, ,next room.
You, bended knee, tongue twirled around my shaft
Take me higher and lower, between pleasure and doom.

The foreskin you pull way back, suck the
Reddened rocket-head with exaggerated greed,
Deep-throat it and run your tongue around in a frenzy,
Moving in and out, at breakneck speed.
You were never known among guys to go down on your knees.

Later, a shower later, you’re in my arms
And I kiss you; your eager lips I staple
With my lips that search your taste, while
I caress soft your nipple, your boob, shoulder and neck
While the other hand feels the fat layers around your waist.

You murmur you want this forever,
But you tell me you know that you can’t —
That you would rather have me as master
And be a servant to my pole; that you will
Give all in the world it takes to make me work your hole.

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Prajapathi, biting her tit

Then, cupping your boob,
Squeezing its orbit tight,
You brought it towards my mouth,
And in the starless night

I saw the silhouette of you
As you bent towards me,
One hand in that cupping act,
The other, striving to have my member free.

You pushed your tight udder
Forcing it against my lips
That I drew them in with such force
As one let’s the wanton lust as it grips.

Its soft fleshy hardness as it
Hardens into my mouth I drew,
And I felt my dick go stiff
As if to stiffen at such a warm taste it knew.

I groped at your free orb,
Squash it against your chest
And you harden your hold around my dick,
Putting its reflexes to the test.

A shrill, demented cry of a mating cat
Pierces the sky from somewhere there
On a roof somewhere, in a dark shadow,
When you mount me, push me in the snare.

You start steady and slow, and you
Gather strength in pace,
You slide up, slide down,
In a lustful crazy daze.

I bite hard your grain,
Making you gasp and groan,
But, then, surcharged, you ride
Moanful, to the night alone.

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Jeevana, first caresses

A countless number of chats, many texts,
A few calls and after a meeting over tea,
We are in silent agreement that the day is come,
And we are meeting discreet, unknown to the clergy,
Behind closed doors, on a day of a moderate sun.

Subtly, I pull yourself to me, with a
Deft touch just about your waist,
While you offer no resistance, come pushed my way,
The veins of your throat tightens, and with intense eyes
You look at me unknowing and knowing what to say.

I was drawn to you first by what you said and wrote,
By your drawings and sketches and shares of
Freedom and such. And now, after effort, after making it here,
I know that I need you, to hold and probe you deep
And to hammer you so you crack, you open; and weep.

Closer, and I run my right hand through your top,
Ruffling your waist, my left cupping your bum,
And you breathe in and hold it up, expanding your chest,
Your full breast inside your shirt heave and prop.
You whisper that you’re not sure whether this is just right.

I plant on your chest the first warm lips’ caresses,
And draw you to my body, holding you firm.
Your mouth opens in slight, caught in some strange desire,
Through your top I take my hand up, and grip your nipple tight.
You coo a sharp half note, and whimper soft and slight.

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Me, being reasonable

You remind me
We are adults in our mid 30s,
You tell me I must understand that
He turns you on and does the right things.
That you find his body, his texture, his ribs
And toned arms too sexy,
That he brushes his thumb on your nipples making them
Hard at a stroke, and making you light.

You tell me, there’s no offence to be taken,
And I agree with you, yes – we are civilized,
And he should be given a key to the house
And I must go somewhere. For, I would rather you did it
Where the comforts are those of home.

You tell me that he kisses right, and that
He touches you disarming you of all your inhibitions.
That he throbs between you, pinning you
Against the wall like a butterfly, and that he,
In a controlled frenzy of brute force coated with
The finer syrups of male-dominated lust
Stings into you as if he were the proverbial bee.

And I listen, and I nod,
And I say , yes – then, what is best perhaps
Is to give him the spare key to the house
And, perhaps, a cue to let me know, so
I could let the two of them be.

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