I come around looking just right,
To your front door in my spike-healed boots,
Anxious to see if the outfit suits.
Taking time as if not to tear paper,
You lift my skirt and then say "wait here."
Turning on the lights of the Christmas tree,
You're back unwrapping the package that's me.
Pushing towards the window and into the chair,
As you part my legs wide with your knees,
At me arching back with a need to please.
Like a cat, the urge so strong,
Spreading my lips, wet with honey.
Using my fingers to stir the flow,
Whispering, "tell me what you need,"
"I will do anything you ask,
Fulfilling your fantasy is my task."
Do not enter greedily.
Place your fingers around my knob,
First press yourself against me gently,
I will tell you when it's time,
Until then linger without a sound;
By Shelley Cates Martin