She could be quite a tart, when it suited,
Straight-faced, sotto voce, she mooted…
If dinner went well…
Why, a girl couldn’t tell…
She might not mind, perhaps, being rooted.
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Yielding not to temptation
Sister Frances just went through the motions,
Still prey, though she prayed, to lewd notions…
If only they knew!
It was all she could do,
Not to touch herself during devotions!
Social climber
She’d been blessed with a healthy libido;
“Use sex to get on” was her credo.
She’d sometimes put out
For a punter or tout,
But fucked anything in a tuxedo.
Balance of power
“Please be gentle, I beg you!” she pleaded.
He grunted, undressed her, proceeded.
He did use some spit,
To assist with the fit,
But used rather more force than was needed.
Assimilation
A young gwai lo who lived in Hong Kong,
In an effort to seem to belong,
Screwed a Chinese girl, twice,
Which, although it was nice,
Nonetheless sort of felt, somehow, wrong.
The adventurer
Not for him scotch or gin, but Campari;
He’d just returned home from safari,
Done China, Japan,
And declared, man to man,
He’d once rooted that girl, Mata Hari!
Test-drive it today!
Made of steel and wood, nuts and bolts,
Lots of grunt, the full two-forty volts,
Her mechanical cock
Out-fucked any dumb jock,
And without a man’s frustrating faults.
No hard feelings
Though not hot, he was quite a nice bloke,
So she kissed him and gave it a stroke.
He got hard…what the hell!
So she shagged him as well,
Though both knew it was just for a joke.
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She was pissed off! As Mum would say, vexed.
So they’d kissed, had a grope. Well, what’s next?
Oral sex, she supposed.
“Wanna fuck?” he proposed.
So she stripped, struck a pose, sent a sext.
Deep inside, she knew
She’d had sex with someone, she suspected,
Or vaguely, next day, recollected…
If so, was it nice?
Did she come? Once? Or twice?
She recalled, though, she hadn’t objected!