Gin fling

Her poor head was beginning to spin,
From an excess of rather nice gin,
Which was all very well,
But she couldn’t quite tell
If  or which fucking hole he was in!

Sass

She was willowy, verging on gaunt, 
But nice tits, which she’d shamelessly flaunt…
Pretty, tight little ass,
And a mouth full of sass…
“Look, don’t touch… ‘less I tell you,” she’d taunt. 

Belated

Just a novice, poor boy, misdirected…
He plunged in his cock… she objected…
“Whooh! Not fucking cool!
That’s my arsehole, you fool!”
“Sorry love. Oops! I do stand corrected!”