When I tell her to bend across the pool table, I wonder what her mind is running to.
When I tease her slit with the pool cue, gliding in circles, I wonder if she is hesitant or welcoming.
And when I ease it into her, as it disappears inside her, will she buckle, will she tremble, will she tell me it’s too much or will she try and prove to me, rot herself, to the gods, that she is worthy, that she is the one. That I am the one for her.
O, will she slide back into it, to feel it stretch her, to feel ‘full’?
Or will she attempt to crawl away, as it is too much.
Which version do I want, obedience or struggle? Both harden my cock.
What will come out of those slick wet lips?
A guttural moan?
A grunt, in the most beautiful, animalistic, dare I think un-lady-like way?
Or will she sob? And if so, will that sobbing enchant me or dispel me?
How will her hair fall? Over her eyes? Over her mouth?
Will her hair stick to her wet luscious lips?
And will she come? Will she come again? Will she take the cue for me until I tell her no more, until she is so full it aches. Maybe it bleeds.
Such thoughts run through my mind. And warms my heart.