Jayesh Goyal

11 December - Mumbai

Cinderella - The Poison Ivy

Nicely curved and delectably wrapped in six yards of black cotton over a sleeveless bare-back silver blouse, a seductive goddess with divine lips - alluring, seductive, and sexy lips
Her eyes kissed by the waxing and waning moon - moaning the tales of unsatiated lust - such mesmerizing is the effect of her innocent eyes that they make a poet of a common man in me.
Her neck, a dainty - soft, smooth, bitter, and sweet, as my fingers curl around the flesh delicately - carefully not to bruise in places easily seen - so fierce is the passion that burns my desires, a raging forest fire, unstoppable and consuming.
She is crazy, volatile, gorgeous, and treacherous - impossible to resist. A summer tsunami laden with pheromones emanating from her voluptuous armpits - just a sheer glimpse melting my masculinity instantly.
I am in the most exquisite distress astride her, sweating and feeling an impetuous volcano strain at its peak inside wanting to explode my sweetest self all over her as I find myself loosening the backside buttons of her blouse — the clinking of her anklets and the tinkling of her colourful glass bangles in symphony with my sinful wishes.
The caravan of my lips and tongue travelled through her inviting oxters, her mounds of pleasure, her navel to her generous soft thighs between which my whole face has come and come ... tasting the spices of her melanin all over my famished tongue.
I hunger to devour the sweet temptress parting her sensual crimson lips - fermenting sweet juices - lingering with my delicious, luscious velvet tongue - moving in rhythm until after we hit that incredible peak as we pant in satisfaction, both blown away
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