“My Fair Lady”, Sir Lancelot wrote,
“On thy sweet self I lovingly dote.
I pray nightly to God
I may soon shoot my wad
In thy cunt, or mayhap down thy throat!”
Author: admin
Working girl
“It’s a job,” she opined, with a shrug.
His cock lay in her hand like a slug,
Pink and damp, a blind worm,
She could feel it squirm,
As she squeezed it and gave it a tug.
La rêve
Elle avait une vrai je ne sais quoi;
Il s’imaginait, donc, quelque fois,
Qu’ils faisaient l’amour
Puis on aurait toujours
Eu, au moins, ce bref instant de joie.
Dumbstruck
The poor git stands there, gob-smacked, and gawks
At her pussy and pendulous norks,
Paralysed, legs gone weak,
Quite unable to speak,
Knob and eyes hanging out on their stalks.
The barbarians at the gate
When a restless barbarian horde
Took up weapons and travelled abroad,
Though most folks they’d just slay,
Maids they’d carry away,
To rape later, when peevish or bored.
Pen friends
Dear Sir. Now I’m thinking more clearly,
Sex has affected me queerly.
Pray, tell me when
We might do it again.
Perhaps Saturday night? Yours sincerely.
Getting off, getting on
Getting older, good roots ever fewer,
Loose women more hard to procure,
For kinkier thrills,
Not to waste the blue pills,
He booked two girls most nights, to be sure!
The hoax
He begins to sweet-talk her, to coax,
Just one more of his practical jokes…
The deception seems small
But she swallows it all.
She looks up, and he laughs, and she chokes!
Original sin
The young lady said “Pardon me, Rector…”
He glared at the fair interjector.
“The forbidden fruit;
Does that mean… did they root?
Was it maybe a peach, with sweet nectar?”
Going forward
She’d said yes, although under duress;
When he’d done, though, she had to confess
It had been rather fun,
Once the fuck had begun,
Never mind that the sheets were a mess!