The poor girl, the next morn, to awaken,
Bruised, sullied, and sadly forsaken!
She’d done it for love,
But, gosh! Heavens above!
It would seem she was rather mistaken!
Tag: limerick
Rum trifle
The bold hussy, not one who would stifle
The impulse, she gave him an eyeful!
The cut of her blouse,
Of course, meant to arouse
Any chap she chose, with whom to trifle!.
The game
Though he’d said he’d pull out when he came,
He said “Oops! I forgot.” Pretty lame!
So… a few anxious weeks.
Bloody liars and sneaks!
Still, she figured, all part of the game.
Pause for thought
In her pussy (most times), or her bum,
Or her mouth, pretty often. (Well, yum!)
Am I just, she thought, sceptical,
Some damn receptacle,
Some place to empty his cum?
Harrowing farrowing
The poor girl! Though she weren’t no damn quitter,
Grew weary, resentful and bitter.
Damn triplets! Fuck’s sake!
Don’t it take the damn cake?
There were times she might drown the whole litter!
Young love
They were still in their teens when it started,
Just kids, sailing waters uncharted.
First kiss, roving hands,
And now this! There he stands,
And she, naked, moist labia parted!
The benefit of hindsight
Though at first she’d been highly offended,
Outraged, by the time that it ended,
Her ravishment done,
All too soon once begun,
She’d decided she thought it quite splendid!
His saving grace
The damn fellow by whom she’d been pestered,
By whom, in fact, one night molested,
She told “Though it’s moot,
If you weren’t a good root
I’d have probably had you arrested!”
The balance of evidence
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!
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!