He watched her across a sea

Of fine bone china,

White cotton,

And the darkness of tea.

Illuminated in a shaft of dusty yellow sunlight,

She teased,

Applying sticky pink lip gloss,

To those oh, so kissable lips,

Spread; gently plumping

With a tongue tip,

The places he needed to be.

Yes, how sweet the temptation,

Of sex denied,

She stoked that fire

Within his core.

“It must not happen again,”

She purred,

Knowing it would happen again,

But when?

And thrilled, he was bound to suffer,

Waiting, craving,

Until she consumed his every thought.

From an open sash,

The trill of the bluebird,

And a warm summer breeze,

Appeared to distract her.

She smiled sadly,

As if she had not a care in the world,

And thought so little,

Of his ecstatic pain.