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A Threesome of Poems

I hope everyone has enjoyed the foul, raunchy fun Carrie, Chris, and Krista have gotten into. I thought I’d do something different and dive into their heads a little, letting you see what they think of each other, what drives their lust, be it tenderness or raw, unfiltered horniness.
When writing their adventures, I’ve thought of Carrie as being a completely desperate nympho who’s lust drives her to look to her own son and daughter for satisfaction. She stops at nothing to cum and opens herself up in all ways to make sure she and they get what they want. She’s controlled by her pussy, a soft, tingling, wet mushy spot between her thighs that can’t be pounded enough.
I’ve thought of Krista as a wild card. She wants to feel in control by initiating sex, but at the same time, she wants to be dominated and pounded. She has an illusion of feeling in control, but loves the feeling of being treated like meat, as if her only purpose is get fucked and cum on cocks. She likes the thought of her only value being between her legs.
Chris is just kind of there I’ve always thought, a toy for the women in his life to use. His s****r initiates their first encounter, his mother initiates their first encounter. His mother uses him as a toy for a pool party she has for her girlfriends. I’ve based a lot of his kinkiness on mine, like liking the taste of his own cum, playing with his prostate and ass hole, cumming on his own face, and obviously, we both have a big i****t fetish.
Below are some poems that Carrie, Krista, and Chris wrote about each other and I hope it helps you get closer to the characters. Enjoy!

Thickness, hot flesh.
The head bulbous, the shaft a trunk.
I taste heat on the roof of my mouth.
A bulb in my throat.
A snake of cum crawls inside me.
I swallow.
A whore.
A slut.
A bitch.
A mother.

In my stomach, I can feel it.
Pounded, pummeled, filled.
His cock a battering ram, my pussy a weak gate.
I clench to hold him out, but he fucks past.
I love it.
I fight to keep him at bay, but he breaches me.
I love it.
My wetness welcomes him.
My holes are his, pussy, ass, mouth.
In that order.
I am his, a lover, a toy, a fountain, a s****r.

Her warmth.
Her wetness.
Her softness.
Her flesh.
I want in more.
I want in deeper.
I want to be one with her.
She spreads wider, welcoming me more.
I tingle at my tip and shudder along my trunk.
She squeezes.
I erupt.
Our warmth.
Our Wetness.
Our softness.
Our flesh.
My mother.

Our bond beyond name.
Our bond beyond a womb.
Your flesh is mine, mine is yours.
I taught you dirty words, you taught me their meaning.
Fuck.
Pussy.
Cock.
Cum.
Squirt.
Suck.
Whore.
Slut.
Our bond beyond name.
My s****r.

Made of me.
My tits.
My ass.
My hair.
My lips.
Your scent is mine, you taste of me.
Your pussy is pouty, your lips fat petals.
My pussy is pouty, my lips fat petals.
Your nectar is peaches.
My nectar is apricots.
Eat me and I’ll eat you, a meal to each of us.
My daughter.
My girl.

You taught me to walk.
In stilettos.
You taught me to go shopping.
For short skirts.
You taught me to ride a bike.
And a cock.
You taught me to eat ice cream.
Off of your pussy.
You taught me to never give up.
On learning to squirt.
You taught me to love.
The taste of you, mother.

Updated: October 21, 2016 — 1:21 pm

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