“Pray, come sit by the fire, my dear!
Champagne perhaps? Whisky? A beer?
Take off your wet dress.”
And she smiled, nodded yes,
Though his motive was perfectly clear.
Month: January 2017
The wilful suspension of disbelief
Yes, he loved her, he said. Pleasant fiction!
Wet finger on clit, such sweet friction!
It flustered her so
That she kept saying no,
But with rather more hope than conviction!
Sugar daddy
Her dress décolleté, rather sheer;
“My word, you look lovely my dear!
I’ll try not to stare!
A nice touch not to wear
Any panties,” he said, with a leer.
Life study
She posed nude for him, just a quick sketch;
A few bucks, being hard up, poor wretch.
“Want to earn a bit more?”
He said. Watching, she saw
His cock harden and fatten and stretch!
The big no-no
“Get your kit off!” said Santa “Ho, ho!”
“Goodness gracious!” said Mary “No, no!”
But yes, yes, though, by golly,
All terribly jolly,
The root itself, though, just so-so.
Tomboy
Quite the tomboy, like one of the lads,
Had admirers though, still, in fact scads,
Drank and swore with the best,
A good root too, they guessed,
Unconfirmed, since they hadn’t the nads.