~Mischief~ Playing with Fire

He’d had a Redhead once, pure Mischief
She was a devilish imp, copper hair glowing in the sunlight
Eyes sparkling emerald, smooth alabaster skin
A sprite, bubbling and brimming with Celtic Delight
He closed his eyes with a shuddering sigh
As he recalled the shift
That occurred when her ire was provoked
When her Irish was up
Those jeweled eyes became smoky, flashing
Devastating the offender with one glare
And his mind drifted to her other passions
He sighed more deeply, his hands moving
With a mind of their own
To stroke the throbbing shaft that arose
On the mere memory of her desire
The wide open mind, and vast imagination
The naughty hands and the hungry mouth
He slid further down in the chair, her name on his tongue
As he stroked ever harder his pulsing member
Recalling her deep moans, gasps, pants
Her ever quick mouth pausing its onslaught to give directions
To let him know how he was pleasing her
Her elfin voice turning throaty as she gasped profanities
Fuck me harder, she’d demand, deeper, more yes baby yes yes yessssss
And the Celtic body rippling as she rode him
Bucking as she came again and again, clamping him in her heat
The memories flooded him as his end drew near
And he came with a cry and a gasping sigh of thanks
To her memory, the Redhead that once was his.

~Mischief~ 2009