It’s getting late,
And I'm afraid
Afraid, to let you make passionate love to me on this night,
Afraid, to let you hold my femininity, close to the warmth of your masculinity,
Warmth, that might make me melt like custard ice cream, expose to heat of the morning day,
Having my offering drip; drip-drip, on the smooth stretch flesh of your hard pulsating enormity
Afraid, of that hungered look in your eyes,
A look that look like you will sexually eat me completely alive, if I let you feast between the silkiness of these soft thick creamy thighs,
Afraid, of that long pink slithering tongue, that look like it will flicker all so silky smooth between the folds of my heated wet,
One second lapping up the creamy of my cream,
The next, making my lungs audibly scream,
Until all my clear nectar is nothing more then a dried up dream
It's been so long, since I've had a man that looks so sexually mean,
With eyes wide open while looking up between my seems,
Wanting
Waiting,
Willing,
To satisfy all my erotic needs
So yes,
I'm afraid
Afraid, to let you feast on the wet triangle between my legs,
Afraid, of the big prize pulsating between your muscled, bulging thighs,
That might sexually hurt my mind,
With shearing sensations that would make it go blind
With lust trust,
Afraid, its size might stretch my womb pliability beyond its endurance,
Push so deep into my wet, its head slap on my cervix as my womb envelop your harden meat from head to base,
While your big brown eyes fixate,
On the sexual pleasure distortion on my face,
While my heart beat faster then a thoroughbred horse can race
Yes,
I'm still afraid
Afraid you'll make me beg,
While your granite hard dick is spoon fed,
Deep inside my wet sweet bread,
Enticing my lungs to audibly moan out your namesake,
Then you leave me, in a sexual desired strait
It's getting late, and you are still thrusting deep inside my treasure,
Leaving sensations of ultimate pleasure,
Rushing throughout my measure
Hips in a rush,
To stick my womb with another one of your dick long deep thrust,
Making my womb weep of feminine seepage,
My eyes cry with passion weepage,
My booty quake, while the rest of my body shake with epileptic fervor,
While your hard membrane strokes fast and deep in my hot wet server
Yes,
I'm afraid
Of feeling the passionate rhythm of your hips,
In complete sync with mines,
As sweat pours down my face,
My Breast,
Off your chiseled chest,
While collecting collectively inside my wet,
That's making wet sloshing sounds of suction,
Of my womb complete destruction,
From the smooth rhythmic strokes of your hard membrane induction,
Profoundly inside the fathoms of my pink production
So yes,
I'm afraid
Afraid if you keep making passionate love to me this way,
I just might ask you too...
..."Stay"...
1Manview © 1999 – 2012
