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bucketb0t Dec 4
EARGASM > ******
Buckethead's insatiable music is never on period.

***'s every overstated play: overrated...
Buckethead's every understated play: underrated!
Some bucketbot mania in regards to Buckethead's music
Ах, это сладкое мгновенье
Ты доставляешь мне на пике возбужденья;
Пытаясь описать это невероятное чувство,
В голове всплывает лишь термин “искусство”…

Будто рисуя портрет живописный,  
Водишь по телу рукой словно кистью.
Вот и кончается наша романтичная пьеса:
Сливочный оргазм – грандиозный финал страстного секса!
Àŧùl Aug 2021
I lay prone on the bed.
What's under me?
Under me is my gun,
This gun has a gazillion bullets,
What for? For shooting towards you,
And where are you?
You lie further underneath me,
You lie supine, with your hills grazing my torso.

I touch your soft hills with my strong hands,
And you make sounds in ecstasy, not the drug, but the experience.
My gun travels in & out of your *****,
And your nails dig deeper into my back.

You express pleasure,
My sweat drips on your throat.
You express pain,
My pace increases in ecstasy.

You start squirming underneath,
You vibrate furiously along me,
I shoot my excited gun at last,
What for?
No, not for taking your life,
But as you are my wedded wife,
Together we should create new life.

You whimper,
I whisper.
You cry,
I pry.
You are relieved,
I am pleased.
We are successful.
My HP Poem #1938
©Atul Kaushal
My mind raw and twisted,
The soft spell of my fingers touch the leather skinned whip as I expel it against your juicy little ***.
Moments like these are my favorite, when your with me.
He strapped my ankles, wrists and all, to demand a bitter strength ignited in his intentions.
Another spank from the whip, tingly, prickly but yet so swiftly.
Few bruises here and there...
but your little angel love's every last bit of your masculine touch.
Feather me up, through tickles and such,
take me by the hair, and pull me towards your lavishing warm chest, where the sweat trickles down the arches of your ribs.
Feeling you pulsate when your ***** is in me,
as I make you c*m....a little closer to another specious night filled with adventure.
Feelngs of pain and pleasure.
Payton Hayes Mar 2021
The French call an ******
“la petite mort” or “the little death”

tango with lips, teeth, and tongue
undress each other with our eyes
an unspoken agreement that
we’re both dying a little tonight
This poem was written in 2020.
Payton Hayes Mar 2021
Resurrected, I arose
for mornings thick with lust
and love and caffeine and naked kisses
And again, when night came
I did too, and fell sweetly, sinfully  
prey to the small death
ushered in with a grand symphony
of your name
This poem was written in 2020.
i miss the feeling of being held
your strong arms around my chest
muscles flexing
grasping around my throat
pulling my ponytail
eyes looking up eager to get rid of this love drought
your fingertips tracing my thighs
hands pinned down while you look me in the eyes
a hard ******
to soothe my craving lust
heart racing faster
breathing increasing
...faster
...faster
...and faster

stop.

like a tsunami of relief
washing over me
ridding me of my misery
all my senses heightened
my vocal chords tightened
let out a scream
Bk Jan 2021
It rained here today
I could see
the particles of dust
crumbling  into pieces
I could
smell the air,
ripe with the pleasant,
dewy petrichor
as if the Lady Earth had her ******..!
It actually rained here today..!
Styles Nov 2020
lying in our puddle
as I pulsate
inside her
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