A poem about a stripper.
Pandora knows exactly what I want to listen to.
The music starts the spark inside of me.
Then comes the makeup and attire.
After the last finishing touches are done,
I’m primed up and rearing to go.
I want to get in-touch with my inner stripper.
I aim to please and be pleased.
It’s my turn on the stage and I’m ready to shake my money maker.
The clothes slowly peel their way on to the floor.
One layer at a time.
I smile and look you in the eye.
I get real personal and spread my legs wide open.
Just so you can see my glistening pink pearl.
You know you want to lick my juicy sideways lips.
And then I slam your face between my bouncing tits.
You are intoxicated by my perfume and super soft skin.
I whisper in your ear about a private dance….
Where you could get a better view of that soaking wet kitty.
You tremble and say, “Yes!”
Behind the black curtain you can just faintly hear the muffled moans.
As lips lock around an erect cock.
Twisting her tongue over the head of his dick.
Tracing all of his woes away with the tip of her tongue.
All of the thoughts of mistrust and anguish that his ex girlfriend put him through are gone with the flick of her tongue.
She twisted it in ways that no human should.
She sucked like a vacuum cleaner and tickled his dick till he came.
All of the pain,
all of the tears,
shooting out of the head of his dick and covering this whores tits.
She was a pain eater.
She sucked you off, so you could cummm out your pain on her chest.
All things come with a price.
Now you must pay her when you are done.
And leave feeling relieved.
A evening well spent.