A Gift

Biting your succulent lip
Quivering wet slitted tip
Privileged with your trust
Eyes burning with lust
Bowing down before me
Are you ready to be free
Don’t think just listen
Soft silky skin glistens
Honoured with the humbled view
Love is deep and so true
Submission is a sacred gift
taken and treasured
From you to me, me to you.




I need you to guide me
To show me
Allow me to be free
Chain me but unleash me
Take away the constraints of my fears
In your hands I can fly
Tease out a sigh
Old me good bye
Please help me try
New me yearns for release


Tipple or two

You’re really rather dandy
You make me feel quite randy
Silky smooth and fiery
Liquid mocha shot of Brandy

Indulgence is severely risky
Hot fevered brow, I’m frisky
In cut glass crystal finery
Caramel spicy drop of Whiskey

One tipple or two is fine
Tickling tastebuds, so divine
Succulent flavours of every berry
Splash of full bodied fruity wine

Cocktail umbrella, plump cherry
One taste, I feel rather merry
Sweet to the lips, sublime
Small tasty measure of Sherry

A lemon slice I’ve been taught
Too much makes one cavort
Sultry, dark and rich
Large serving of finest Port


Naughty or Nice

So dear Santa, have I been naughty or nice?
My bodice so tight, nipples teased with ice.
My mind is wandering, thoughts so delicious.
A craving of lust, images very auspicious.

Being a good girl, doing the right things.
Doesn’t always satisfy, relief rarely it brings.
Delicate fingers to touch, tickle and tease.
My supple skin does swell, aching to please.

Glossy fingernail dips between plump pink flesh.
Rising to the challenge the loom begins to thresh.
Breasts become swollen, engorged, firm with blush.
Tongue licks wet lips, teeth bite to hush.

Thrumming resonates, pulsing to the core.
Body is electric charged wanting more.
The Phoenix is rising, soaring to a great height.
A myriad of colours swirling, burst into sight.

The fuse of the firework is alight and sizzling.
Shooting, exploding, convulsing and fizzling.
Breathing has hastened, a warm glow spreads.
Finger awash with glistening wet threads.

Which list does my name comfortably sit upon?
Your choice, decide Santa, your thoughts impinge on.