There she was, wearin’ nary a stitch,
With my husband, the slutty damn bitch!
I said, aimin’ my gun,
“Dirty cunt! Havin’ fun?”
She said “Shoot me! Just scratchin’ an itch.”
Her good deed for the day
She’d said yes, although not much inclined,
Frankly, sort of, well, just to be kind.
Not the best root she’d had,
But it wasn’t that bad,
Just a root, and she didn’t much mind.
The small print
Well, of course, rules are meant to be bent,
Which applied, she supposed, to consent.
Just to tick yes or no,
Not say where it could go,
Meant to not have a say where it went.
Oral testimony
The saloon whore said “Yessirree, Marshall,
I reckon I’m gettin’ damn partial
To bein’ et out,
Makes me come like get out,
Your sweet tongue, or that walrus moustache’ll!
Is this love?
Modern Miss Quiz
Is This Really Love?
[ ] Love and sex: pretty much hand in glove?
[ ] Gave him head your first date?
[ ] Anal sex? Yes! Can’t wait!
[ ] Bondage? Whips? Fuck, yes! All the above!
Different strokes
Whereas English girls like it romantic,
The other side of the Atlantic,
The making of love
Is all grunt, push and shove;
Rather vulgar, and loud, and too frantic.
To skin a cat
“Well, she said. “We can either elope,
Go get married, and bugger the pope,
Or… I just won’t say yes…
You can rip off my dress,
Tie me up… Look, I brought my own rope!”
Showing her cards
Despite his mates’ ragging and scoffing,
He judged, by the wine she was quaffing,
(A bottle so far),
And not wearing a bra,
There was likely a root in the offing.
Tickling her fancy
Giggling drunk, about three-quarters pickled,
Her pussy squelched softly and trickled,
Each step of the way;
Yep, she would have to say,
She’d been proper and good slapped and tickled!
Goldilocks, not
It was damp in the woods, cold and drizzly,
His cock like a bloody bull’s pizzle! He
Scratched, bit and growled,
She felt helpless, befouled.
It was like being fucked by a grizzly!