Sex was quite fun, according to rumour.
Her girlfriend, an avid consumer,
Said try it with toys,
And then move on to boys,
Which quite tickled her sick sense of humour!
Month: February 2016
A knotty problem
Having tried it, though not much enthused,
Bondage, whips, she was rather confused.
Would she do it again?
She came hard, true, but then,
Was it love, or just being abused?
The truth hurts
So, they’re fucking. It starts to get rough.
She screams “”Punish me!” Just off the cuff.
“I’m a slut! I’m a whore!
Fuck me! Slap me some more!
Sort of half true, but mostly all bluff.
Love’s labours lost
To the best of her youthful ability,
Blessed with a certain agility,
Willing enough,
Till she ran out of puff…
He still limp! Goddamn shame! Such futility!
Whore-ticulture
Quite the lady, she said, self-assured,
“The buggery, yes, I endured,
But go back in front?
Lady garden or cunt,
I don’t want the thing bloody manured!”
Precociousness
At her age, love would not be condoned;
He’d be ostracised, shamed and disowned.
So they must be discreet,
Pleasure all the more sweet
When the time comes, for being postponed.
Puzzlement
What a problem the poor fellow faces;
Undressed, her mysterious places
Uncovered, laid bare,
A blank canvas, but where,
How begin, though, to fill in the spaces?
The summing up
In terms, frankly, that couldn’t be blunter,
She said “You’re a john, just a punter,
So, thanks for the fuck,
Now goodbye and good luck.
Your dick’s small, you’re a wheezer and grunter!”
Not faking it
She went pale, cold, body aquiver.
His cock seemed to reach to her liver!
She raved like a loon,
Then fell into a swoon,
Eyes rolled up, as she came like a river!
Beyond the call of duty
Though the chap was superbly endowed,
She was plucky, the lass, quite uncowed.
Yes, she’d fuck him, she swore,
Front and back, and what’s more,
All ten inches, she recklessly vowed!