pussy pie
 c. 2001, Miriam M. Wynn

lick, split
I want to spread you open,
make you drip;
the open tunnel to your cherry pit.

a maraschino tang and spit
that oozes, leaks,
so very wet,
to give me purring lubriciousness
the sweet, the sour, the musky mint;

your mini tongue waves snugly at me
puckering and rudely proffering,
so that the challenge won’t be denied;
your pussy cat can’t be defied –

and I strafe in, to watch you exude,
to absorb the funk, the female spunk
face to face I converse with your labial grace,
and slip my own tongue out to wave a sly hello–

your nether lips greet me with a demure sputter,
you yawn and part, the great oak limbs
from left and right entirely wide,
your rumbling sighs a glorious invite;

and, brave, I nudge a greeting with the tip of my nose,
your hardened baton grows prouder and so
I cannot prevent myself from claiming
the darling berry quite drenched with raining;

and once my hopeful lips have made contact
your moans ensure that I’ve done right,
and earnestly I suck with all my might;

my tresses sweaty at your thighs,
your dark pubic fuzz caressing my chin,
and I’m absorbed in the mess I’m in,
the tip of my jaw rubbing in the spilling fountain,
your thrusting hips encouraging me on;

I part my lashes to look at you
your mouth hangs open, your breathing stilted;
I suck just when you most need it and
flicker my tongue at all the right moments;

and, jealous of your seeping pleasure
my fingers ease up to find your entrance;
push you apart with selfish intent
and the sucking smacking noise of
those burbling inner lips thrills me;

you buck, and your sweet wet hole I fuck,
my fingers slipping in and out as one,
then two, then three, and yes, then four,
and when I get there you beg for more,
and you rise up, wide-eyed, to watch
as I finger fuck your dripping thatch;

my tongue still whirling round your clit,
the juices a nectar you fill my mouth with,
as drunk, my tongue plumbs the smoking crevice,
sliding down to tangle with my fingers,
and so I greedily bury face, self, need and sighs,
in my gooey, fruit-slick, pussy pie.
 

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short fiction  /  verse  /  long fiction  /  main
contact the author  /  copyright Miriam M. Wynn, 2001