Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2022
Rubbing her *****,
Through her tight yoga pants
At first glance, the slit, split by the seam
My finger tips, slips, perfectly over her ****
She’s getting wetter with each stroke, it seems
Stroking her bump, as my finger humps,
Her warm, ***** *****, jumps.
Pulsating to my touch.
Styles
Written by
Styles  NYC
(NYC)   
8.2k
   TheLonely
Please log in to view and add comments on poems