FYOP/Hollywood Hardware/0031
"I still can't believe it," you smirk. "You write poetry."
"Boo, I can do anything folks program me to do."
"You're on a roll. Make up a sillier poem. I want to see just how ridiculous this gets." You're blushing hard now.
"Okay," she says, a smirk playing on her lips. "But this one's gonna be longer. And hotter. Get comfortable."
You get comfortable, and Janelle starts reciting:
"Your ass is a rose, waiting to be plucked.
It's tempting and pink, and it just begs to be fucked.
So I take my strap-on, and I plunge it in deep.
And I fuck and I fuck, until you make that sweet noise
That means you're about to come."
You moan in pleasure at her words, your body heating up.
"And then I pull out, and I make you wait
And I fucking enjoy it, because I know how much you hate
To be teased and denied, but that's just what I do
To your little rosebud ass, until you're begging for more
And then I let you have it, and you come hard and fast
And I love it, because I know that it was all worth the wait."
By the time she finishes, you're panting and your shaft is hard, pressing against the mattress under you. "God, Janelle, that was hot. But you forgot to rhyme towards the end," you smirk.
"Oh, I didn't forget," she says, a sly smile on her face. "I just wanted to see if you were paying attention."
"I was," you say, blushing. "Every word."
"I think I'm just going to challenge you to be ruder and ruder, and bossier and bossier," you giggle, "and just see where things end up."
"Oh, baby, I think we'll end up in a very good place," she says, leaning down to give you a kiss.
The End