Ah the penis, exquisite flower of manhood—it blossoms from the tenderest bud wrapped in gentle folds and delicate softness. Come forth! Rising to its mighty potency, the flesh stretches smooth as fresh pea skin, firm and sweet as the peach fruit that sends its juices out through a texture both rigid and pliable wherein its mysteries lie.
An object of magical construction, to grow so swiftly from boyhood to its full masculine promise, cords of silken vein and steely muscle shielded by thin parchment armor. Its heat rewards the mouth which laves it, velvet to the tongue its kindred member. Headed round and earnest, there is no disguising its desire or intention. A dew drop eager for its intended home springs up, sparkle of promise that here waits its gift, its eternal purpose to drive the spark to ignition in the endless loop of creation.
There it stands between us, erect in response to my ministrations, my prize, my penis. It is the handle by which I try to own you, or at least bend you to my need. There is an empty place carved out for it deep inside me, a place made ready by its mere presence, a home that longs for its warm appearance at its fiery hearth. It is, still in its rising, a penis of beauty—long and of respectable girth, a carving of ivory tusk in the voluptuous arched form of Shiva with her breasts exposed, a fruit of sweet musk ripening at my lips.
I could stay here forever, my head at your belly where your skin stretches smooth across your lean hips and there is the power of your thighs within the reach of my hand. Here in the nest of your groin, wooly with wire hair and the hidden hardening knots of your scrotum, my attention turns wholly to my task, me the thousandth generation of hetarie forever reborn to this exact instant when the sweet foreskin stiffens with astonishing speed and pleasure spears burn through us both. Your breath quickens, urging me to greater skill and enthusiasm, so that my tongue and my lips and yes, the broad worn surfaces of my back teeth and even the rough rasp of my upper mouth and the restrictions of my throat entry ply themselves in unity to this great purpose, this moment of conquest, when the entire existence of you is concentrated in this one fragile organ, this mighty creature, your cock.