He was guilty, of course, as accused;
The poor girl had been sadly abused.
Though she’d whimpered and cried,
He confessed, deep inside,
He was much less ashamed than amused!
Author: pete
Enough rope
She’d agreed but, in fact, could she cope
With the vibrating toys and the rope,
And the lack of control
Even over which hole…?
What to do, but keep coming and hope?
A matter of taste
Though flat-chested and freckled and pasty,
It just showed one shouldn’t be hasty;
She had a nice muff,
She was willing enough,
And her pussy, in fact, was damn tasty!
Odds and ends
Not to be, well, a bit pessimistic,
She knew he was rather sadistic;
She did like it rough,
But it seemed fair enough
Not to want to end up a statistic.
Democracy in action
“Dear Diary. Oh boy!” she wrote.
Tom said “Pussy or arse or deep-throat?”
Harry laughed, said “Tough call!”
I said “Fuck! Do ’em all!
Fuckin’ airtight, boys, that’s my damn vote!”
Back seat driver
She sat up, poured herself a reviver.
His come, pussy juice, his saliva
Dripped out of her cunt.
She said “Get back in front.
You can take me home now, thank you, driver!”
Tug-of-love
He would pluck her, he said, the big brute,
Pull her pussy hairs out root by root.
Rip out each screaming follicle!
How diabolical!
Nasty, but bald pussy’s cute!
Life is a cabaret
Just a stripper, but quite the artiste,
She kept time with the music, at least.
“Turn it up,” her boss said,
“Show some pussy instead.
Shake them tits too.” Insensitive beast!
Libidinous angst
She woke up, panting, coming, hot, screaming!
Alone! Had she only been dreaming?
No something more literal!
Visceral! Clitoral!
Living, and being, not seeming!
Tractability
He paused, grunting with dissatisfaction,
Tried changing his angle a fraction.
“Turn over,” he said.
“Scoot your arse down the bed;
A man needs a bit more bloody traction!”