“Dear Uncle, poor chap!” thought his niece.
“Should I let him obtain his release?
Put his thing… there… below?
Aunty need never know…
Or else scream for help, call the police?”
Category: AO
Adults only
Virtue imperilled
Quite the gentleman, thank God, ostensibly!
Still, just one drink, she thought, sensibly.
One became lots…
Beer, wine, vodka shots,
And he fucked her, of course, reprehensibly.
A lack of propriety
Mister Beasel, the sweatshop proprietor
Cast a long, lecherous eye at her;
Pretty, deaf-mute,
She’d be lovely to root,
Like the other poor girls, only quieter!
Rollicking fun
A rowboat on a river, bucolic!
A bit of an afternoon frolic.
He giggled, half-shocked,
As the boat tipped and rocked,
As she diddled herself on a rowlock!
Initiation
She was buxom, big-arsed and plump-thighed.
The poor boy! He had no place to hide!
And him, scarcely developed,
Half-smothered, enveloped,
Bestraddled, cunt-struck, hers to ride!
Angling
In her quest for a suitable mate,
To a certain extent, it’s just fate.
She may hope, she might wish
That she’ll catch the right fish;
Tits and pussy, of course are good bait!
Truth will out
She dripped lace, and her gowns were of satin,
Of course her behavioural pattern,
Her lewd escapades,
Showed, despite her charades,
She was still nothing more than a slattern!
Beneath her dignity
When she woke the next morning, she thought “If I’d
Had a stiff gin, and been fortified,
Maybe, then… but…
To be fucked like some slut!
Well a woman, of course, was quite mortified!”
The small print
Who’d have thought her consent had extended
To being stripped, roughly upended,
Screwed various ways,
(Some of which would amaze!)
Not at all what the poor girl intended!
The procreative imperative
A man’s motives are rarely abstruse;
He wants sex, with the slightest excuse.
Lust, the thrill, power, greed,
Justified as a need,
Like for drugs, and about as much use.