When he walks through the door
Will I give him my best stare?
Will I curve by body around his and dare?
Will I make him want more?
When he puts his bag down
Will I bend and show off my lips?
Will I arch my back and shake my hips?
Will he stare until I drown?
When he sits down to rest
Will I follow him and smile without doubt?
Will he notice the way a nipple peeks out?
Will this be a kinky test?
When he finally smiles
Will I pretend to be shy and protest weakly?
Will I lower my eyes and blush meekly?
Will I instead use my wiles?
When he pulls me close
Will I gasp and writhe and lean in?
Will I press against his skin?
Will it be him or me that becomes grandiose?
When his grips my hair
Will I squeak and tremble in mock fear?
Will he growl filthy smut in my ear?
Will his other hand make it’s way down there?
When he strums my clit
Will he smirk that knowing grin?
Will I gasp and beg him to move further in?
Will he stroke my slit?
When I’m begging to come
Will he pull away in denial?
Will he make this into a trial?
Will I be tried until I succumb?
When he finally says yes
Will he force two or three or four?
Will I have to come until I can take no more?
Will we both end up a wet mess?
What will happen when he finally walks through the door?
Welcome to Masturbation Monday and pardon my really rough attempt at this kind of poetry. A sort of knocking rhythm has been in my mind all day, and it started with that first line. What will happen when John Brownstone gets home? I’d say it’s anyone’s guess. Okay, for the real smut, go check out what the other writers are offering this week.
Photo Credit: Pixabay