She made love with commendable zeal;
What’s more, too, to judge by her squeal,
Her twitching and such,
And her cunt’s spastic clutch,
When she came, it was possibly real!
Tag: limerick
Fisticuffs
Not to be thought a slut, she’d resisted,
Kicked, scratched, screamed and cursed, bucked and twisted;
All part of the game,
She’d been fucked all the same,
The best part, strange to say, being fisted!
Accosted
Sidling up to him, tiddly, well-liquored,
She purred, “Wanna do somethin’ wicked?”
Her tits brushed his arm,
As he blushed in alarm.
The damn slut, known by all as loose-knickered!
The whisky speaking
He came onto her, some crude damn punk!
“Want a fuck?” he asked. “Yes, I am drunk,
So are you, though, no doubt,
And it’s screw, or miss out!”
“True enough”, she thought. “Okay.” Slam dunk!
Reasonable doubt
She was sexy as hell, though not clever.
She’d never had sex! Never! Ever!
He said “Well, you should!
Sex is awful damn good!”
And she answered “Yeah. No. Yeah. Whatever!
Good faith
Being tied up and fucked is her kink,
(Much more common, you know, than you think!)
Though most men go along,
If it goes a bit wrong,
She says, sometimes one needs a stiff drink!
The bride stripped bare
In the honeymoon suite, while undressing,
She said to herself, “Well, I’m guessing,
He’ll want his root now,
But he’s drunk, anyhow,
And might not get it up. What a blessing!”
Monochrome
“Black boys’ cocks are just so much damn bigger!”
She said, with a lecherous snigger.
“Why go back to white?
Gimme huge! Gimme tight!
No more pink, shrimpy white dicks! Go figure!”
The whole more than the parts
A nice pussy. Perhaps a bit loose,
Snug enough though, and plenty of juice.
A nice arse and great tits,
And the sum of the bits
This girl knows how to put to good use!
Zen and the art of marriage maintenance
Sunday mornings they’d lie in till ten,
Have a root, cup of tea, root again.
Something more than habitual,
Almost a ritual,
Sacred almost. Sort of Zen.