Such a Lush

2 min read

photo: SexArt

You are my 80 proof Bulleit rye to the head, my whiskey lullaby, my sea-drenched Vodka Skyy.

I bask in lust as I gaze at the Tequila Sunrise. Dripping that Bailey’s Cream down tight thighs.

Sex on the beach while I lick up your lips on a Pina Colada night. This Georgia pine gets warped from your hips. Pussy dripping on the vine.

It’s my personal Southern Comfort to feel you tremor on my tongue. One shot, two shots, three shots, but never done.

Sunlight, sun shine to moonlight, and Moonshine. I want you in a Screaming Orgasm fit, squirting like pressed lime. Smooth as dark brew, chasing a shot of you… all over me. All over she. All over we.

Heat pressed, boiling regrets, sweat from your Shirley Temple to your neck.

I lick and lick until your tootsie pops on the bed. Swirling in your center like a clock with an alarm set. Swizzle sticks. Swirling your twizzler between my lips.

My personal Vape Tail, breath you in, I inhale. Gasping for breath until you have no more left to give, in this heated rush to get your panties in a bunch.

Balled in your mouth, drag my spit down south, crash through the borders of your aura, and sweeten your sauerkraut.

I softly trace you with ice, sugar your rim like a Lemon Drop. Pour Gin down your back, then flip you like a tin cup.

Trickle your Triple Sec and grip your neck tight. I won’t spill a drop as I Shock Top your Vanilla Ice.

Decorate you with fruit, old fashioned, like Whiskey Sour. It’s just one more thing to add zing to the hour.

I’ll hold you tight, then shake you up and down. Turn you over to your side and let you pour into my mouth.

Swallow every drop and let your heat burn my chest. Until I can’t move a muscle, until I have nothing left.

Grab your breasts and feel your heartbeat press, my fingers dip in your Goldschlager.

Champagne wealth. Red wine health, my thumb circling your soul. You’re out of control, trickling cum from your sugar bowl.

Night grows cold, feeling like a Three-toed Sloth. Dripping and aching. Blind like a Black Moth.

You’re my favorite. My Slut Bucket with a cherry on top. Sprite and Skittles. Not knowing your name, but how you giggle, and how your ass jiggles.

I consider, consideration and flavor. I’ll teach you how to return the favor. Bask in my flavor. Lime my Zima and watch you teeter.

Moisten in the heat. Then repeat. Recourse. Strengthening your cheek as I ache your jaws. My time is bleak. Pass my cup to the tippler in your seat.

I’m a buffet, but still I consider a considerate push. Time is a bust. A kick like a Moscow Mule in a rush.

Last drop left. Gasping. Running out of breath. Bubbled up like Moet. Rosé like scarlet.

Rouge and blue, as I reminisce over you. My God, it’s true. It will leave my skin and my brain bruised. Red like sacramental wine.

Essence. Running out of time. And managed a rhyme for no reason that will keep me warm for four seasons.

Last shot. Drink me down. Then sway back to your room down the hall. I made you drunk as fuck without a drop of alcohol.

You’re such a lush.

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