“My damn clit has a fuckin’ hair trigger!”
She said,” she said, with a shy sort of snigger…
“The tiniest lick,
Just the touch of a prick,
And I come like a mad thing! Go figure.”
Tag: clit
The silence
Squeezed her tit, rubbed her clit… no effect.
At least none he could bloody detect,
So he stuck in his cock…
No excitement, no shock…
Still, she seemed, at least, not to object.
Slow boil
As he tickled her clit with a feather,
Restrained, hood and corset of leather,
She drooled and she moaned,
Release too long postponed…
She’d about reached the end of her tether!
The wilful suspension of disbelief
Yes, he loved her, he said. Pleasant fiction!
Wet finger on clit, such sweet friction!
It flustered her so
That she kept saying no,
But with rather more hope than conviction!
Performance review
Hand down panties, massaging her clit.
She wants something inside! What would fit?
The drink bottle? Her brush?
Why the sudden strange hush?
Her boss standing behind her! Oh shit!
Lickspittle
Oh for God’s sake! she cried. You buffoon!
Suck, don’t blow. You’re not playing bassoon!
Concentrate on my clit.
Much more lick and less spit.
It’s a cunt, not a goddamn spittoon!
Oral instruction
“Can you not find my damn clit or what?
Lick it! Tickle it! Rub! Spit! The lot!
We’ll get round to your fuck,
Just get down there and suck!
Yes! Oh God! Yes! That’s just hit the spot!”
Lubricity
She said “Maybe it might be more betterer,
Wait till my pussy gets wetter, huh?
Suck on my tit,
Rub a bit on my clit,
Or there’s vaseline, butter et cetera.”
Suspicion
When he squeezed, he began to suspect
She had fake tits, which, were he correct,
Might persuade him to quit,
So he tickled her clit,
To distract her a bit while he checked.