Sister Catherine, wimpled and sandaled,
Though frequently fingered and candled,
(Such shameful delight),
Still lay sleepless at night,
Racked by thoughts about being manhandled!
Tag: masturbation
Love-birds
On her porch, they would kiss and canoodle,
She’d fondle his kit and caboodle!
In all kinds of weathers
He’d ruffle her feathers;
She’d coo, while she played yankee-doodle!
Silent partner
In a corner, concealed, he lurks.
She undresses; he leers and smirks.
He imagines her shock,
Should she see his fat cock,
At which, watching, his sweaty hand jerks!
Working girl
“It’s a job,” she opined, with a shrug.
His cock lay in her hand like a slug,
Pink and damp, a blind worm,
She could feel it squirm,
As she squeezed it and gave it a tug.
Best laid plans
Her tits joggled and swayed, unsupported;
His eyes goggled, watching, and watered!
He jerked himself sore,
Would have liked to do more,
But she screamed, and his scheming was thwarted.
Two in the bush
She’d somehow, just instinctively, known,
Whether supine or kneeling or prone,
Two was better than one,
Being screwed much more fun
Than her finger at home on her own!
A smattering of applause
Staring gob-smacked, the poor randy fool,
Stands there happily jerking his tool.
She pretends not to see,
And continues to pee,
While his mouth and his penis both drool.
Hands-on experience
When the boy’s hand deliciously strayed
Up to, into her panties and played,
She protested, but sighed,
Let two fingers inside,
Breathless, thrilled, although slightly afraid.
Self discovery
With her fingers, helped out by some spit,
She pokes, rubs up and down in her slit.
“Where’s this clitoris thing?
Wait! What’s that? Pow! Kerrrrrching!
And again! Oh my God! Yes, that’s it!”
D.I.Y.
Masturbation’s a DIY measure
A pastime, when bored or at leisure.
Of course, it’s not love,
But, when push comes to shove,
Fucking’s also about one’s own pleasure.