Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Perfect Storm

Thunder rolled round the bowl of the Mendips and the
Bristol night became more complex as her
languid tongue slid under my balls and
her muffled voice said “count”—
count what? my brain being
disconnected by her mouth and hands
took a moment but I remembered the
elephants between flash and rumble despite the
rhythmic grace of her hand and the
exquisite wet penetration and when I got to 3 her
finger joltingly replaced her tongue and her
mouth and hand consumed my cock as the
storm burst and I
pelted her stomach with sperm like
Summer raindrops.

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