Candlelight, oil, cinnamon and fingertips,
I create relaxation and some unnecessary romance.

I glide over every muscle, soothing every ache,
then ask you to turn so I can finish the dance.

I tease and taunt, the way you love,
then I stroke and lick, to really pleasure.

I twist and twirl, suck and swirl,
working hard for that taste I treasure.

You push and pull, taking control,
but you still hold back, savoring my whimper.

Then you pull me up and slam my hips down,
groaning then chuckling as you listen to me simper.

You have found your power, either in my touch or patience,
but I revel in it, pressing and squeezing, obeying every command.

My arms are raised, the push and pull of my hips,
you respond with new orders, insistence in your hand.

Moaning and writhing, seething and screaming,
my body gives way to your perfect design.

You force and coerce, drawing as much as you can,
until finally, my liquid limbs compel me to resign.

I fall to my side, breathless and out of my mind,
but you are not finished, completion unmet.

You turn to torture my pink pebbled points,
taking out your dissatisfaction on those two sweet summits.

My fingers attempt to please, but cannot manage a pace,
so you rise up above me, and I prepare my lips.

But you surprise me by straddling my chest,
forcing your throbbing cock between my tits.

You require me to hold them, and pinch my nipples tight,
while you slide between my breasts, dominating them completely.

It doesn’t take long, the pleasure so exquisite,
before you’re pulsing, climaxing, cumming so repletely.

Your fluffy white seed squirts across my throat,
coating my collarbone but missing my face.

And as you back down, you smile at me sweetly,
“You are lovely, my dear, wearing my pearl necklace.”