Tight Fisted

A clench of her fist, sent nails into the flesh.
Underneath the glowing red, wrapped in the palest beige.
Pain, she guessed right, a fetish brought by plight.

A shiver of my hips, sent a smile across her face.
Guided by lust and play, she nailed the tip, with her thumb in place.
Quickly, my fingers pinched, onto the swollen inch.

An exchange of delight, challenged to a fight.
Her arm laid across my chest, my moving hand between her legs.
We knew to not give up, as voices rose in pitch.

The torture on my dick, traded for soreness on her clit.
Redefining sexual fun, sent us twitching in the setting sun.
A struggle that never ends, in the hands of two insanes.

Are you fucking cumming yet?
We asked in turns, continuing the sickly fun.
A timer ticked in us, for a blast, from each casts.

A gentle wave of shakes, lining the way to her hips.
My back bent and arched, to unleash the threads of white.
We came at no better time, into palms that held on tight.

Minutes past like seconds, leaving two panting fast.
Dirtied hands moved on, as if Durex lube lubed us.
For another orgasm, multiplied by the weakening two.

The darkest love for sore and despair, transformed pain to gain.
Never did we know, the other’s tolerance,
for such a dirty game.

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