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A knock is heard on her doorAnd with a smile of expectationShe leads him into the depths of no return.No finesse, no caresses,No love lives here.Listen...You can hear the pounding of the bedpostsAnd the squeeking of the springsAs his rampant urge takes control.You can hear her moans force their way*Through the paper thin walls,As they fuck to their hearts content.They don't know you are there,They wouldn't even Keçiören Escort care.Look...She knows not, that someone is watchingThrough the keyhole of adjoining doors,Legs held high and toes pointingIn ballet dancing style.His hands and arms held straightSeparating their sweaty bodies.As his buttocks pound with a constant*Fall and rise of his pride Etimesgut Escort and joy.Plundering the silky, moist, depths,Of her most inner secret place.Heavy balls swing, at the expectantAnd ever approaching emptiness that he craves.Smile...At the moans and groans of mixed melodiesFilling the air with the sweet sounds*Of copulation, orgasms, Demetevler Escort urge and need.I Watch their energy drive them on,I grasp my hardened rod of steelAnd empty my balls in synchronised release.As stiffened buttocks fill his waiting receptacle*With the same cream that drips,From the other side of the wooden door.Breathless...At the foot of the bed, she smilesHer politeness, and demeanourA facade for renewed businessAs her hand is raised to the pleasureOf the sweet feel of crisp, brown, notesAnd the satisfied click of a distant door.Knowing...A wry smile spreads across her faceAnd her eyes close and openWith slow, meaningful, contemplation.She kisses the money and staresAnd directs a knowing wink at the keyhole,As her hand falls to her waiting sex.