erotic poetry, even your mom wants some, hijab, incest, more than just spilled ink, sarong, sloppy with grease, sonnet, urge
You said that you’d be prepared if I told
you to wear it all day. Now, with sarong
hiked up to your hips and your panties rolled
down I gaze at your cheeks and those ping-pong
sized plugs in-between. There were four of them
that you greased and slid in, ’til just the cord
peeked out. Of course my sister will condemn
this too; but it’s your uncle’s urge that cured
you of boredom. Your hijab prim. Slowly
I pull the cord. Slowly pearl beads emerge.
We gasp. We groan. We go sloppy with grease.
Inch by inch my cock fills you completely
until even your mom wants some. This urge
is just that. I have no sister, no niece.