An ode to blow jobs

Last year, for World Poetry Day, I wrote a poem about my adventures at Eroticon. Tonight, everyone is talking about blow jobs on Twitter, so I’m turning my hand to writing blow job poetry as an ode to both the delight of sucking dick and the filthy mindedness of my friends.

All I’m craving tonight is dick,
specifically your dick,
thrusting deep in my throat.

I want you to fuck my face
and use my mouth;
force your cock deep ’til I choke.

 

My tongue finds the pulsing vein,
on the underside
of your hard, red, thick cock.

I’ll tease it ’til you moan and
buck your hips;
bring you to the edge and then stop.

 

Eyes watering, I’ll strain to look up
and see the satisfaction
written on each plane of your face.

I am happy to be pushed to my knees,
let you twist a hand
in my hair, and set the pace.

 

Demonstrate your control over me,
your casual dominance.
Tell me that I’m a fucking slut.¬†

Make me whimper around your cock
by saying filthy things –

I’d work harder as lust twists in my gut.

 

Tonight I want to taste you,
to smell you,
to forget everything but your cock.

Mindless comfort that can be found
solely through face-fucking
is the only thing that’ll cure my writer’s block.

March in solidarity (or anxiety)
Snatched minutes for a tube train fuck

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