Dirty Cure


Take me to the muddy ground, push me down, roll me around.

Knot your fingers through my hair, kiss me hard, cut off my air.

Make me feel your physical desire, press against me, fill me with fire.

Pin me into the rain soaked clay, growl and rumble your craving for play.

Grind against me, force me to beg, tease and shift, pin down my legs.

Rip and tear obstructing clothes, grin and chuckle as my humiliation grows.

Slide your strong lips across my throat, nip and bite, I’ll sing your favorite note.

Lick your way down to peaks so sweet, enjoy soft moans until teeth meet.

Make me whine, call me names, do it again, I love the pain.

Slip your fingers down my sides, glide my skirt up over my thighs.

Stroke my skin, kneed my flesh, at my hip, discover my undress.

Rise up above me to see beneath, my lack of panties, your breath released.

Rumble deep within your broad chest, sit on your haunches, relish my unrest.

Fingers tickle, torture and tease, hips rise up, “Please, Sir, Please.”

A smack, a stroke, then drive inside, my hands awaken and come alive.

Reaching for your thick, hard steel, you swat me away, “You’ll be my meal.”

Fervent lips, ardent tongue, vicious fingers, I cum, undone.

Writhing and panting, begging for more, you impale me quickly, that cock I adore.

Driving and thrusting, I hum your song, lifting and quaking, it doesn’t take long.

Own my body, bent to your will, wait not a moment, flip me for your fill.

Pounding rhythm into quivering walls, my climax explodes like Niagra Falls.

Spent, sated, I buckle under pleasure, allow me to recover, I’ll return it, without measure.

Lift me to your lap, rubbing off the mud, raindrops revealing knees with spots of blood.

With healing powers, kiss the pain away, I breath against your ear, “this is the best day.”

Sweetness turns to roughness, tenderness to gruffness.

Force me down to the ground again, right back to where we began.

But this time, I am not demure, I scream for your savage, dirty cure.

“Fuck me, Hurt me,” I demand, your palm meets my throat, “I am… I AM.”

Drilling down, through clenching descent, your release and restoration are eminent.

Your groans and roars and quickened pace, the agony and passion etched in your face.

I allow my zenith to bubble up from within, so that we may meet in love’s perfect sin.

At the peak of our throes, lightning crashes, thunder rolls.

Our pulses and tremors, heightened by the storm, I wonder breathlessly, of their symmetric form.

And when you rise to see me replete, allowing the rain to fall around us in a sheet,

I soak in the heat from your lascivious gaze, “I hope this weather persists… for days and days.”

Image courtesy of roxxsc.deviantart.com

26 thoughts on “Dirty Cure

      1. That thought brings a smile to my face… Along with other reactions in other parts of my body. 😉


  1. Dear Mel,
    OMG….I have to lit a cigarette (I know its a horrible habit) Indeed this Touched Me as @ Eric Keys commented in other body part places. Yahooooo, Hot & Steamy. You Rock Sister!
    Your Friend,
    Anastasia 😄


    1. Yes, yes, yes! God, I miss smoking. I totally would’ve had a toke after writing that one! ;P

      Here’s hoping I can “touch” as many people as possible… you know… with my words…

      I already did it the other way! Ha!


  2. Reblogged this on Pushing our limits and commented:
    I thought I’d pick some yummy poems from the vault to share again, since my mind won’t settle long enough to liberate a new one.

    This is one of my favorites. I’d love to have sex in the warm summer rain, in the woods, in the mud… in ecstasy.


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