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.

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