He picks her up
in both hands;
sits her in his lap.
Her curved
frame fits his
thigh like
it was molded
that way.
He cradles
her to his chest
& passes a hand
slowly over
her smooth form,
letting her cool
surface warm up under his touch.
He moves his fingers to her
spine and
gently begins
to press down,
starting at the top
and nimbly works
his way down.
It’s slow at first
but soon picks up
speed and he smiles
as her deep alto moans turn into
a frenzied soprano. Meanwhile, his other
hand strokes at her center where the hollow
becomes full with the sound of her shouting
voice. Back & forth his fingers go, shifting & making
her emit a new note each time. Sometimes it’s a full
bright melody, like the kind you hear on the radio
Sometimes it’s a darker chord that echoes only
on a primal level & can only be performed
by a skilled hand with unabashed passion.
Just as their song comes to its peak, he
throws back his head, eyes closed &
mouth agape, pure ecstasy as he freezes
for a moment & lets her cry ring out
before bringing their song to a close
with a final ritarded progression
of fingers moving
back up her spine.
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