Every Sunday night!

Every Sunday night! Every Sunday night!

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Tags

Summary

A rhyming memory from long ago, when I was 17!

Tags

Summary

A rhyming memory from long ago, when I was 17!

Content

Submitted: January 12, 2014

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: January 12, 2014

A A A

A A A


Every Sunday night would find me round your parents’ home.

On their sofa, side-by-side, we’d wish we were alone!

But Sunday night the four of us would sit and watch TV.

That weekly ritual of you, your mum and dad, and me!

 

Every Sunday night at five I’d ring on your doorbell.

‘You going to let your boyfriend in?’ I’d hear your father yell.

The door would open; you would smile that lovely cheeky grin.

The quickest kiss would brush my lips, and then you’d let me in.

 

Every Sunday night at six your mum would bring the tea.

The pleasure she got doing that was obvious to see.

You’d pass my plate and as you did, I’d feel our fingers touch.

I’d pull a cushion on my lap to hide my bulging crotch.

 

Every Sunday night at seven your dad said, ‘Switch it on’.

And  you’d jump up and rush across to get there before mum.

You’d squat down at the buttons then you’d twist my way and smile.

And show me sexy stocking tops and then, the ‘Golden Mile’!

 

Every Sunday night at eight we’d make us all a drink.

Five minutes while the kettle boiled to fumble by the sink.

I’d lift your dress to feel your ass and you would squeeze my knob.

We’d hear each other’s heart beat loud. With love and lust they’d throb.

 

Every Sunday night at nine, your dad and I played chess.

You and he’d changes places then I’d watch you stroke your dress.

You’d stare into my eyes and smile, and I would ogle back.

Then you would slowly cross your legs and let me see your crack!

 

Every Sunday night at ten I’d have to catch the bus.

Goodnights were said, we’d go outside and then it was just us!

My hand was on your pussy and I’d quickly make you cum.

You’d jerk me through my trousers, then I’d gasp and succumb!

 

Every Sunday night at eleven I’m walking home once more!

I’ve missed the last bus 'cos of all that passion by your door.

But what the fuck! The lovely thoughts of sex and you would linger.

And I could tell when I’d be home if I just sniffed my finger! 


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