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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Romance/Love · #1891184
The inner call for transition from virtue to vixen.
My lips trembling...... still, after so many weeks have gone
I’ll roll on some gloss and unbutton the top,
Helpless he is... I hope, when he see’s my bra
Weekends spent, hemming up these skirts, so’s not a garter or seam, can ever be missed
Guilty, yes, guilty I am. Tho’ I persist,
to risk all my possessions, awards and even , my own, wedded bliss.
Once I counted on my nature, which no slander could touch
Always the good girl, the homemaker, the dependable one
8 weeks now, my mind remains, twisted in those sheets or bent over that hutch
My virtue, taken once melted in his capable hands,
I can focus on nothing else, but counting the minutes......
...... until my panties are ripped off by that capable man
© Copyright 2012 David R. Bell (davidbell at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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