"Craving the Afterglow"
Student:
The air was thick with aftershocks,
and I, still trembling,
dared to touch the outline of her lips
where sin still gleamed like gloss.
I had slipped in thinking I was bold,
my breath laced with midnight dare.
But I was already kneeling in a plan
she choreographed with care.
Her fingers were still inside me
in memory, not time.
I kept my legs drawn tight,
yet I felt the echo climb.
I was not made to be gentle.
Not after her voice commanded,
"Stay open."
And I obeyed
not because I wanted to.
Because I needed to.
Because when her tongue swept under mine,
I forgot I had a name.
I became her
A shape she molded,
soft thigh over thigh,
a slow grind against knowledge,
while thunder bruised the sky.
I tried to speak,
but all I could do
was moan into her shoulder
as she devoured me again
her hand between my thighs,
cruel and loving,
like I was hers
before I even knew I wanted to be.
I never begged.
But she made me want to.
Teacher:
She thought she was stealth,
tiptoeing like shadow at dawn.
But I had left the door open.
I wanted her soaked from the storm
shivering, unsure,
ripe for unraveling.
She came with lips parted
like a question mark,
and I answered with hands,
not words.
She gasped
her voice caught between innocence
and something far more desperate.
Two fingers,
precise, buried deep
between the tender muscles
that clenched too tightly
when she whispered "please"
but didn't know what she was asking for.
She tried to ride me,
her thigh twitching with need,
but I held her hips
like reins made of silk,
controlling every inch
until she cried into my throat.
"You're mine now," I said.
Not as possession
but prophecy.
And she nodded, dazed,
as if she'd always known
this was her endgame.
When she collapsed over me,
hair sticking to her cheek,
I kissed her forehead
like a secret
Then slid my fingers back in,
so she wouldn't forget
who made her feel
that the world ended
between her legs.