He’d bought dinner, she’d told a rude joke,
A good sign. Should he ask for a poke?
Fish and chips ain’t no feast,
But a blow job at least?
Fuck it! No! Life’s too short! Go for broke!
Author: pete
Call me Daddy
The young whore, in fact just an apprentice,
Laughed drunkenly, non compus mentis.
He squeezed her soft bum,
Mumbling “Don’t tell your Mum”,
While he screwed her, in loco parentis.
Soft landing
Folded into his urgent embrace,
Her big boobs take up most of the space.
Bloody lovely, God knows!
As the old saying goes;
She won’t ever fall flat on her face!
Through glasses darkly
It’s been said that men never make passes
At girls who wear thick horn-rimmed glasses;
That isn’t right, though,
It comes down, we all know,
To the size of their tits and their arses!
Rustic idyll
Country life is idyllic, bucolic,
A lazy, libidinous frolic;
Lush grass, tranquil waters,
Plump-arsed farmers’ daughters,
Lewd pleasures, and some alcoholic!
The fire
She moans, writhing, heart pounding, hands clenched,
But the crotch of her panties is drenched!
Let him do what he will!
Let him not stop until
Her wild, burning desire is quenched!
The answer to prayer
From the straight path and narrow she’d strayed,
Given in and had sex, now she prayed
Not for mercy, God-sent,
Since she didn’t repent,
But for more of the same, I’m afraid!
The dish and the spoon
It began watching each other piddle,
Progressed to a mutual fiddle;
The two childhood friends
(Can you guess how it ends?)
Became fuck-buddies! Hey-diddle-diddle!
Callow youth
He was just a youth, callow and gangling;
Between those slim legs, though, was dangling
A prick like a horse,
Which she fancied, of course,
And would have, his with her legs entangling!
The balance of probability
Though she put up some token resistance,
Maintained a (heart-breaking) safe distance,
At last she gave in,
Though she knew it a sin,
To his lustful, soft-spoken insistence!