Smoking jacketed, red satin slippered,
Silk trousers already unzippered,
He mixed her a drink,
Which was, later she’d think,
Like his lovemaking, bloody insipid!
Month: August 2015
Green fingers
What on earth must his friends, if he’s got any,
Think of his passion for botany?
What does he do?
Does he drink? Does he screw,
Or just wank, to relieve the monotony?
Fait accompli
Though of course she’d have rather preferred
That the sexual act which occurred
Were not rape in effect,
Since she didn’t object,
To complain would seem slightly absurd.
Making hay while the sun shines
Just a roll in the hay, a quick tumble;
Some rub and tug, wild grope and fumble,
Bare buttocks and thighs;
No false promises, lies;
A good root though… A girl shouldn’t grumble!
Expressions of interest
Though acquainted, as yet, only slightly,
With some reservations, quite rightly,
She did acquiesce
To his fevered caress;
Proof of earnestness, not taken lightly.
Demonstrative
With each fibre, each tiny corpuscle,
Each breath; with heart, mind, gut and muscle,
She flailed and screamed;
Each fuck not, so it seemed,
Just a fuck, but a life or death tussle!
After the event
Though he truly did seem quite contrite,
It did give her a terrible fright;
He’d said sorry and all,
And his cock was just small,
But that still didn’t make it alright!
Want a rubber, duckie?
“You! Young man!” she cried. “Come here, duckie!
“First time? Well you’ve just struck it lucky!
A tenner, alright?
Mind, it’s been a big night,
And my pussy’s a little bit mucky!”
Youthful enthusiasm
His cock hard, as he hitched up her dress,
As she tugged at her panties, “Yes! Yes!”
But he came in her hand…
(His first time, understand…)
What a hot, sticky, glorious mess
Sunday, bloody Sunday
Eye of bat, tongue of newt, cock of ass.
Still to find: a young suitable lass,
Virgin, (seem so, at least,)
To be used by the priest,
In strange ways, for next Sunday’s black mass.