attracted to the swarthy foreigner,
leading him cross dance floor, to dark corner,
glistening bodies, grinding to the beat,
backing up into him, feeling his heat,

swaying, pressing my arse hard against him,
gyrating hips, as my curves his hands skim,
writhing the rhythm of the music,
giving in to needs, wanton and basic.

guiding his hands up, from belly to breasts,
filling his palms, as thumbs brush hardened crests,
stroking his manhood with arse, through damp clothes,
feeling arousal harden, as it grows,

leaning and sweating against each other,
knowing that tonight he’ll be my lover,
as his hands wander back down to the thighs,
both now so turned on, neither can disguise.

as fingers move up, beneath short black skirt,
stroking inner thighs, touch does disconcert,
grinding myself ever harder backwards,
as his fingertips edge ever upwards,

when they graze across those bare hot, moist lips,
gasping, as finger moistens in those drips,
mouth tenderly nibbling and kissing the neck,
last vestige of my composure, does wreck,

as fingertip circles my throbbing clit,
slouching slightly, as he explores my slit,
ignoring what other dancers, might think,
letting him take me, so close to the brink,

his whispered suggestion, I don’t decline,
and grasping his sticky fingers, with mine
leading him once more, across the dance floor,
so urgently towards the restroom door.

4 thoughts on “Grinding

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