Posterior Motives

He wanted it; she wanted it.

So begins the story -


Saw her walking down the street,

shaking her ass, looking sweet.

In a red micro-mini,

she was fine, not too skinny.

Her thigh-high stockings, sheer black,

were topped with bows in the back.


Saw him watching every move.

He was getting in the groove.

He licked his lips, winked his eye.

Each look seemed to beautify.

He ran his eyes down her dress,

with the whisper of a "yes."

He to a friend:

(with an elbow to his side),

said "I'd love to spread her wide."

His friend looked and smiled with glee,

"I'd like to have her with me."

"She's not your type - too much class.

I'd like to fuck her sweet ass."

She to a friend:

(Giggling) "What should I do?"

(Her friend) "Well, he sure wants you."

She put her hands on her hips

then she slowly licked her lips.

Her heart beat beneath her breast

as her desire was professed.

He walks toward her:

He is captured by her eyes

for they are blue like the skies.

A glint of gold round her neck.

It sparkles like twilight fleck.

Sensuous curves, flare and bare,

running fingers through her hair.

She walks toward him:

She is quite captivated.

Her heartbeat elevated.

He is walking, coming near.

His motive, her motive: clear.

His eyes are penetrating.

His body titillating.

They meet:

He grins a devilish grin.

His eyes like fire burn like sin.

She smiles with lust in her gaze,

feeling her body ablaze.

Loving lust or naked nude.

Nothing here has been construed.

It's a moment lost in time

found within the hands of rhyme.

He opens door, she walks in -

subtle serpent spreading sin.

Lust is captured and pursued

and how naked go the nude.

Lips to lips and they embrace.

She can feel her heartbeat race.

His tongue inside in a dance,

a quick retreat, then advance.

Grinding hips indulge desire

as passion's heat stokes the fire.

Sweet enjoyment to obtain.

He throbs in each purple vein.

Heat and fire, amorous play.

On the downy bed they lay.

Heavens! What thunder at heart!

Convulsive, explosive start.

She's begging for more. "O! Please!"

Turning on her hands and knees.

He licks her sweet little crack,

his hands clawing at her back.

His tongue of love slips inside.

How she loves its slip and slide.

She embraces the pillow,

bouncing against the billow.

His hands grip her grinding hips

as he parts her nether lips.

She is wounded, bloody sore,

but is begging him for more.

His focus on the center

where she bid him to enter;

and loaded with ecstasies,

he replies to all her pleas.

Filled with bliss, her body bent,

she is in a swoon and spent.

Thrusting faster, harder now,

there is sweat upon his brow.

Salacious slit, perfect fit,

he's making a sport of it.

Stiff-standing, glorious prick!

There is fortune in the nick.

A wriggle, a bite, and teasing.

Craving, wanting, and pleasing.

Throbbing, pulsing, and thirsting.

Thrusting, panting, and bursting.

Fervent lust in a tether,

two lovers bound together.


Sigh in sweet enraptured bliss,

passions melting in a kiss.

Two languid lovers in bed,

his arm bent beneath her head.

Stark naked and provoking,

the touching and the stroking.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

So, ladies, lest I forget.
Did this poem make you wet?
So, now, guys, let down your guard.
Did this poem make you hard?
This mental masturbation,
the sweetest stimulation.

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