Not the tenderness of the embrace,
Not the search for love… that’s not the case…
To his own mild surprise
It’s the bagging the prize,
The lust, madness, the thrill of the chase.
Tag: limerick
Skin
Why are all the most my fun things a sin…
Like, say, most things you do skin to skin…
Or just wanting to root,
Though she’s so fucking cute,
Any woman to whom you’re akin?
Thinking positive
So , she’s lying there, naked , supine,
Which he takes as a positive sign…
That she’s up for a fuck…
What incredible luck!
Or she might just have had too much wine.
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!
Good things come in threes
She said “Yes, please. A a fuck would be nice…
But perhaps you could be more precise…
Like, one hole? Two? All three?
More the better, by me…
But whatever… no need to ask twice!”
Malicious
She was young… too young… bloody delicious!
Of course she was rightly suspicious.
“I’m only thirteen,”
She said. “Yes,” said he, mean…
“But I’m not in the least superstitious!”
Snuggling
“Can’t I give it a suck or a tug?”
“No,” he said, and she just gave a shrug,
And lay down on his bed,
Let him fuck her instead,
And the fit was delightfully snug!
Different strokes
As she gags, drools and vomits and chokes,
“It’s way down to your belly,” he jokes,
And he cums with a grunt…
Fuckin’ better than cunt,”
He says. “Yes, love,” she croaks.
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.
Creep
She pretended to be fast asleep…
Through her lashes, though, sneaking a peep,
As her big brother crept,
Rubbed her tits while she “slept”,
And her pussy as well, the damn creep!