Is her body his, wholly, exclusive?
He rapes her… he’s selfish, abusive…
Can love cause such pain?
Is to love him insane?
Sleepless, fretful, the answers elusive.
Tag: abuse
Saliva
Sodding bastard… and him a damn priest!
Fucking fucked her, the lecherous beast!
Salivating, he were…
Never mind about her…
Could have licked her damn pussy at least.
Misplaced gratitude
“Get your clothes on and go, bitch,” he muttered…
His loins and her own still abutted…
The bastard withdrew…
“Th-th-thanks for the screw…
It was l-l-l-lovely”, she stuttered.
Wokeness
He just said stuff like that to provoke…
Like, to call her a slut, for a joke…
And like… what if she were?
It was okay with her…
And, in fact, he was pretty… like… woke!
Upstairs, downstairs
She’d said no, for all that had achieved…
She could tell… but would not be believed…
Crumpled hankie, red eyes,
Semen dripped down her thighs,
As her splendidly large bosom heaved!
The meek
“Would you mind…?” he said, rather obliquely.
She protested, true, but just weakly…
He fucked her right there…
Though she cried, did he care?
“May I go now, please sir?” she said meekly
Where she’s coming from
The poor girl, she’d been so long mistreated…
Incest and the rest, much repeated,
The rest of her life,
As a mistress and wife,
If a fuck wasn’t rough, she felt cheated!
A rounded education
Mister Thompson Esquire’s reputed…
God help the young ladies he’s tutored…
Naive, perhaps lonely,
To see them as only
Rich bitches, all ripe to be rooted!
Dirt
Her man drinks, gambles, treats her like dirt,
Calls her prick-teaser. Cunt. Dirty flirt.
Filthy slut. Fucking whore.
Yet she comes back for more,
Begging “Fuck me!” Embracing the hurt.
Sore loser
She likes sex, but she might like it more,
If the men didn’t call her a whore…
And, like, make her do stuff
Kinda dirty and rough,
And her arse and her pussy get sore.