Flushed and panting, she begged “Put it there!”
He, confused, whispered urgently “Where?”
Weak with want, where she lay,
She had just strength to say,
“I don’t care… anywhere that there’s hair!”
Roxy musing
Mused Roxanne to herself, “What’s to lose?
The encounter is bound to amuse,
He’s a hunk of fresh meat,
I’m a bitch and on heat,
It’s an offer too good to refuse!”
Savoir faire
With her blinds drawn and soft bedside lamp on,
His French maid extracted her tampon,
Exclaiming “Mon Dieu!
Quel grand objet, Monsieur,
Et plus grand, je me pense, quand c’est rampant!”
Sex is political
As she lewdly displayed her introitus,
She said “It’s political, coitus,
An act of sedition,
Of seeming submission,
Lest men, should we not, then exploit us.”
Classy
When skiing I always take classes,
To watch through my polaroid glasses
My skiing instructor’s
Firm tits and adductors
And fellow (girl) students’ nice arses.
Wicked intent
It was long, hard and thick, and it bent:
It would turn her cunt into a tent.
Growing deeper and wider,
She drew it inside her.
Amazing where all of it went!
Practice makes perfect
She sprawled naked and stared at the ceiling,
Her moist nether parts thus revealing.
She said “That was nice,
Though I know you’ve come twice,
Could we do it just once more … with feeling?”
Miss Edwards
For obliging Miss Millicent Edwards
No’s one of life’s little-said words:
A wink or a glance
And she’ll have off your pants
And be rapidly steering you bedwards.
Frilly knickers
A lascivious lady called Lilly
Wears knickers outrageous and frilly,
But only wears these
When it’s cold and the breeze
Swirling under her skirt is too chilly.
Mysterious Jill
To make love to mysterious Jill
Is a secret and singular thrill,
Or perhaps even plural,
In bed, or more rural,
She makes love with magical skill!
Yet about her’s an air strangely chill:
Yes, she’s gorgeous, enchanting, but still,
To gaze into her eyes,
Though it logic defies,
It’s as if, as they say, looks could kill.
Her eyes bore into one like a drill,
Angels sing, but discordant and shrill.
Though she plays on your trust,
Still, consumed by your lust,
You plunge in, and submit to her will.
One is left like one’s been through the mill:
You feel sated, and yet strangely ill.
In your heart there’s a void,
You’re complete, yet destroyed,
Thoughts of other girls crumble to nil.