Pink lace, moist with pleasure.
Fingers pressed into the material,
Pushing it into the wet folds.
Moisture glistens on the intricate pattern.
Slowly your fingers rubbed the lace into me.
Tight circles that felt near torture.
An aching swelled deep inside.
Faster and harder your fingers worked,
As a pulsing fire engulfed me,
And I begged, in ragged breath...