Game

A young gamekeeper, doing his rounds,
Saw the mistress out walking the grounds:
He eyed Lady Chatterley,
Dressed rather nattily,
Tongue hanging out like his hound’s!

Urge

As the cook kneaded dough for his pasta,
Being watched by her lecherous master,
Her dress became wet
With her sweet-smelling sweat,
As he urged her to knead his dough faster!

The sitting

Lady Swandown agreed to be painted:
“By art,” she said, “one can’t be tainted.”
She gladly posed nude,
But refused to be screwed,
And yet was, when he flashed, and she fainted.

Plummy

I’ve a penchant for lasses whose mums
Make them speak with a mouthful of plums,
Who wear tight skirts and heels,
Which nicely reveals
The sway of their silken-smooth bums.