By the Numbers (Round Three)

Arched over the six, the nine then merges With the opening, just below the bend. A temporary pleasure meant to lend Instant relief, as my stress it purges. Inside of you my eagerness surges, Pretending to be man's other best friend, Focussed on his bone, preparing to send Aggressive self-satisfying urges. Your hips, caught in my sadistic embrace, Elevate a view that is breathtaking, Because the force of the thrust makes them race; Pulsating pumps, earth quaking, backbreaking, Keeping the rhythm, and making them pace, Until, suddenly, your leg stops shaking.