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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Adult · #2012842
A poem that personifies my sexual desires in the form of a demon.
(Synopsis: Fire-Crotch is a personification of desire, an embodiment of my "inner sexual demons", for the lack of a better term. Not to say I'm haunted by my sexual desires, but rather accepting of them and how they fit in with my personality.)



You are my every temptation, my every desire.
My dirty secret, my guilty pleasure.
You lured me in, you wonderful succubus.
You’ve got me wound around your lovely finger.

You first met me with such fascinating seduction.
Kneeling on my mattress, dressed to the nines.
Arms and legs bound in rope.
Collar and leash on your neck.
Ball gag lying beside you.
It’s red hue matching your own.
Black hair drapes over your shoulders.
Horns jutting out its sides.
You mouth holds a wicked grin.
Jagged fangs shine like cold steel.

Forked tongue lashes out.
Kisses just above your cleavage.
You gaze into my eyes.
Playfully struggling against your bonds.
Letting out a hiss of pleasure.
A sign of lust, a call of arousal.
Your tongue sweeps across your chest.
Your wiggling intensifies
Your hisses and moans grow louder
Your cheeks turn pink
Your legs rub together
Your body trembles
Your eyes shut tight and…

A fire ignites.
Burning between your thighs.
You heave a heavy sigh.
Eyebrows raised.
Mouth agape.
Tongue hangs loose.
Sweat drips from your body.
You open your eyes.
Give me a wink and a nod.

I approach you without hesitation.
Crawling onto the sheets.
Position myself behind you.
My arms wrap around your waist.
I rub your stomach.
My chin rests upon your shoulder.
You turn to gaze at me once more.
Our tongues meet.
Then our lips.
Our eyes close.

My hands move lower.
The fire still burns.
The warmth is intense.

My hands move lower.
Your crotch flares up.
It’s flame singes my arm hair.

My hands move lower.
My fingers catch fire.
The scent of burned skin fills my nostrils.

My hands move lower.
I clench from the searing pain.
But my lust is great.
My fingers glide against your pussy.
You bite my tongue in pleasure.
I continue to stroke.
You start to tremble in my arms.
Our moans become synced.

I gently penetrate you.
You jolt in surprise.

In...then out.
In...then out.

My rhythm intensifies.

In, then out.
In, then out.

You start to leak.
The moist warmth coats my fingers.

In then out.
In then out.
In then out.

You pant uncontrollably.
I feel your pussy clench.

Then I stop.
Quickly eject myself from you.
I pull away from your lips and tongue.
You glare with frustration.
I give you a smirk.
“Not yet, lusty demon of mine.”
My whisper rings in your ear.
I grab the nearby gag.
Shove the ball in your mouth.
Your frustration reverts back to pleasure.
A grin forms across your face.
Sharp fangs clenching the ball.
I lock the gag behind your head.
Tugging it ever-so tight.
Your head rests on my hand.
I grip the end of your leash.
Pull you closer to me.
My mouth hovers over your ear.
I whisper once more,
“I still want to play with you...my dear Fire-Crotch.”
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