Tantalizing Words from My Soul

Let Me Wet It, Part 8

That's it, baby, wrap those thighs

Hold tight

Locked in position

You're on a mission

And it's not impossible to see, you're gifted

You write poetry with the tip of your tongue

Dot every I and cross every T

Taste the divine nectar that flows from me

Blissfully, you send me

Strum with the thumb

Now enter with one, maybe two

That's it, make music

Back arched as you French kiss it

One leg shakes

I quiver

I quake

The last note is played

When I wet up that face