His Living Room Walls

His Living Room Walls

If his walls could speak,
Would they talk about us
And the things that we’ve done,
As they've silently stood witnessing?

Would they tell of the time
He anxiously turned me to face them,
Impatiently shoving me against them,
As soon as I stepped through his door,

His left hand holding my neck firmly,
While his right was dropping my defenses to my ankles,
His fingers exploring my realms,
Soaking in my delight?

Would they express how he made me squirm,
And burn with an uncontrollable desire,
Moaning to feel him deep inside,
As my swelling lips were begging to be hushed?

Would they disclose how he forced me to the floor,
Down on my hands and knees,
Making me whimper and writhe,
Like a dog, begging to be played with some more,

And of how I pleaded with him,
To drive himself in from behind,
As they stood without a sound,
Watching us imitate two animals in a mating ritual?

Would they voice how he raised me from the ground,
Lifting me to face him, my thighs straddling his waist,
Him slipping inside, as my legs were wrapped around,
Inviting me to thrust and ride, as he carried me to his dark bedroom,

Leaving them never to know what comes next?

Fantasy

Pretending to be your call-girl,
I come around in that do-me outfit,
standing at your door in my spike healed boots,
ringing the bell, waiting to entertain you in the parlor.

You unwrap me by the light of the Christmas tree,
Slowly, like a very special package, delivered just for you.
You take your time, not tearing paper,
as you lift my skirt above my waist.

Push me into the chair by the window,
so the cars driving by can catch a glimpse,
you part my legs with yours, as I arch my back,
revealing my urgent need.

I plead with you to lick in leisure,
my cone, as if it held your favorite flavor,
and you kneel before me,
and start to nibble at my passion flower.

Tracing the edges of my panties with your tongue,
you caress the petals with your chin and nose,
your eyes gently closed,
savoring the fragrance.

I'm not content with this petting for long,
the urge too strong, like a cat kneading,
I cannot help but purr,
As I'm spreading my lips like sweet honey.
I use my fingers to start the flow,
while your watching me stir,
and I raise them to your mouth,
offering a taste.


I whisper, "tell me what you want,"
with no more time to waste,
"I will do anything you ask,
being at your mercy,
submitting to your hunger
is my task."

My fantasy,
is truly to be,
the one who fulfills,
all of your fantasies.