After the storm

Wet from our play in
the rain, my dress,
drenched and clinging
to my body.

You, slowly peel it away
from my breasts. Then
you do the same with
my now, transparent
brassiere...

Pushing the garments down
until they were below my
waist;

you reach down
with both hands
slowly slipping up
my wet legs and
thighs, reaching
my bare ass.

Pressing me
forward, as you
dip your head
to tongue the
wetness from
my breasts.

Your mouth moved
closer to my nipples,
so, too, did your hands
slide round to my moans.

At the same moment,
your tongue snaked out
to lick the taut tip of
my breast, while
your thumbs pressed
opened the pink wet
folds between
my legs.

Then, you
whisper;

“It excites you when
a man puts his hands
up your dress… It makes
You think he is doing
something wicked
making you feel
naughty.”

I gasped, as you
drew one fingertip
along my flower.

Smiling up at him,
yearning from excitement
I knew he had only
just Begun...

Yemanja