Spending
The kneeling whore holds her tongue still
Letting my yellow-tinged cum
Dribble across it
Like salad-dressing
Simultaneously pleasant and repellent
Not waiting to swallow, she engulfs me
The trained eagerness of her mouth
Neither reaching her eyes
Nor rousing my lust
Frictionless motion with no destination
She lets me pull back her painted face
By roughly-grasped hair
Forcing my softening sex
Desperately deep
Will and habit warring with reality
Tongue now stiffer than the flaccid flesh it works
Her nose held against my thrusting pelvis
She waits stoically for me to recognize
What she already knows
That I am spent to the point of bankruptcy
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