The eroticism of simple daily acts |
Kneading Bread The floured dough drops To the marble table top Your hands knead With steady exertion You are intent on your trade You see me not Mesmerised by your strength Your rhythm As your hands move the dough From nowhere I am Heated white with desire For your floured hands To knead my flesh My rod into life giving Release To capture your breast's nipple As you lean full and round Into my mouth Sucking you till you Cry out in pleasure Your bread forgotten Your thoughts only of me Of us Of pleasure filled Through my trousers I stroke myself hard In time with your rhythm Suddenly You stop..... Your eyes upon me Desire fills you As you watch me Stroking myself Wiping your hands You move towards me Silently placing your floured hand Over mine, pushing my hand away Opening the zipper Releasing me And with one swift movement I am swallowed whole Into your eager Warm, wet cave A promise of other wet caverns Whispered in the air As the flour from your clothing Floats as talc around us You Fully devouring me Hungrily sucking Intent on your ' meal' And me, barely standing At the onslaught Feel the fire in my feet The flow is coming No stopping Full thrusting I hold your head still Exploding my life force Into your throaty depths Crying out in my ecstacy You smile Stand The bread completely Forgotten. |