“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.
Tag: abuse
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.
Candy is dandy
The priest, watching her licking her lolly,
Thought “What a good looker, by golly!
To squeeze her young breast…
Sin which ought be confessed…
And to fuck her! God! That would be jolly!
If
If you weren’t my damn boss, which you are,
I’d be getting straight out of your car,
She said. Gimme a break!
I’m eighteen, for fucksake!
Get your fuckin hand out of my bra!