Poets is powered by Vocal creators. You support Stel Tsolakides by reading, sharing and tipping stories... more

Poets is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.

How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.

How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.

To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.

Show less

Submission

A Poem

Someone stands behind you in the dark,
He stands there in total silence,
You can feel his breath on your neck,
His fingertips flow up your arm,
You do not turn around,

Your breath catches in your throat,
Slowly over your shoulder, barely touching,
Now his fingers tease your hair,
His lips kiss your ear so lightly you’re not sure it happened,
You do not turn around,

Suddenly his fingers grab hold of your hair,
It sends shivers down your spine,
He pulls your head back into his chest as he bites your neck,
You stop yourself from screaming out,
You do not turn around,

His other hand moves up & holds your throat,
His fingers drift down from your hair towards your body,
They float down the centre of your chest,
And suddenly tear open your shirt ripping the buttons free,
You do not turn around,

His fingers turn back up and circle your breast,
Ever closing, but never touching your nipple,
Your breathing becomes heavier,
You yearn for that contact,
You do not turn around,

His hand moves from your throat to the back of your neck,
He pushes you down over your desk,
He holds you in place & kicks away your chair,
Then steps away but you know he’s still there,
You do not turn around,

His fingers your ankles, nails trailing upward,
Digging in & tearing at your nylons,
His fingers latch onto the hem of your skirt,
And move ever upward, unrelenting,
You do not turn around,

He tears at your panties, your final defence,
He exposes you, masters you, makes you his own,
His fingers explore you, completely & thoroughly,
They know you more deeply than you do yourself,
You do not turn around,

Your voice finally escapes your lips in whispered moans,
You feel the stubble brush past your thigh,
His face hovers, nibbling at your cheek,
His fingers recede & his tongue takes over,
You do not turn around,

Slowly licking at your lips but tracing higher,
Finding your point he turns up the heat,
Fiercely flicking & teasing,
You can’t help but get caught up in it all,
You do not turn around,

Moving back down he probes ever deeper,
The taste of you pouring into his mouth,
You are no longer aware of anything else,
You sigh in protest as he pulls away but still say nothing,
You do not turn around,

There is no sound, no movement,
Just the steady panting escaping you,
Then you feel him grab your legs,
Pulling them apart, pulling you near,
You do not turn around,

Then he fills you, deep and hard,
You scream out,
He stays there for a second,
Then withdraws & pounds in again,
You do not turn around,

Each time faster,
Each time harder,
But never enough,
You always want more,
You do not turn around,

The sweat builds up on both your bodies,
The heat builds, as does the rhythm,
He clutches onto you tighter,
You finally hear him as his grunts join your screams,
You do not turn around,

You move yourself for the first time,
But only to push back against him,
The pressure is unbearable,
You need to let loose,
You do not turn around,

You die a little death,
But he doesn’t stop,
The feeling doubles,
Then you feel his release,
You do not turn around,

Again and again,
He finally slows,
He stops and he pulls away,
You hear his footsteps getting further away,
You do not turn around,

You are left leaning over the desk in the dark,
Your heavy breathing is the only sound to be heard,
You close your eyes,
You smile,
You never turn around.

Read next: Jolene/Sebation
Stel Tsolakides
Stel Tsolakides

My thoughts sometime get away from me, what I write is the result of that runaway brain
I like to try different styles and experiment with formats, sometimes it works, sometimes...
not so much.

Now Reading
Submission
Read Next
Jolene/Sebation