If I said, “Yes. Oh, God, please. Yes…”
and spread my velvety thighs before you, what might happen?
Where might you start?
When might we end?
catch your breath…
Honeyed alabaster.
Flawless skin, smooth like silk. No, like air. She moves across the room and you can’t take your eyes off her. A freckle. A cocktail dress clings to the sides of her small, generous curves; her breasts slightly rambunctious and buoyant. The emerald-green bounces light into her sweet, brown eyes. The waves and coils of her hair catch your breath like a spider’s web.
Bewitched.
I slip between you: softly, hungrily licking and lifting the creamy sauce from her slick, velvety creases.
Our cries – melodic in their intensity, harmonized in their passion – crescendo.
Succubus.
– Lola Moi –