You let these fingers take a walk on your back. A slow sensual massage as I navigate your all your hotspots. I make a stop at your thighs and take you on a wet journey. My hands roam, hiking and tripping all over your curves. Your hands fly to my belt and I land on my back naked. You climb aboard and set sail for this orgasmic voyage. I’m the passenger inside you but you’re the one who rides. You make back and forth trips but we both always arrive.
I was lonely at the pitstop till you rolled in. Ignoring the checkered flag, you crashed into my toolbox. As your radiator fumes filled my space, I wanted to fix you not your car. The bodywork still pristine, it was clearly the engine that needed my check. After spending much needed time under the hood. My strong hands already had you in a purring mood. As the urge to ride took over, you climbed up to the cockpit. Asked for my hand onboard to help reach your blindspots. You turned the key and we both felt the ignition inspiration. I slammed your throttle and we were both off to the races.
It has been a quick year and SHE can’t wait till August. You are stronger but can’t handle the insanity in her. You promised not to be late but arrive with the sunset. No time to waste, you soon make this African son rise. Your hands slowly fill up my desire to cuff you. They move fast as you’re worried about the curfew. Gently unmasking what you’re after then your legs lock down. SHE finds her cure in our clandestine entanglement.
I drive carefully into the compound to avoid any unplanned blowouts. You guide me from the outside and I’m in the right space. I try to tip you, gratitude for the now raised tipper. You say you want all of it, the promises and the debts. I drill down deeper, you want the rubber to hit your roads not just bypass. I can’t remember the right word but it rhymes with fracking. Just one more inch and rhythmically approaches the predicted gusher. As I hit your core, I finally get why you call it.. Baby-oil.
My lips trot down your body like a knight riding off to battle. I tug a war with your undergarments, inside my armour I grow. Your hands flip me soon as they can find a handle. Then you tie your hair up, as I bask in your surreal glow. Our tongues meet, the dragon awakes the flames as you sit on my saddle. My sword is un-sheathed, you make sure your initial movements are slow. Soon the stallion is at full gallop, courtesy of your gyrating straddle. We both win and lose the fight by the cock’s first crow.