Soft in all the right places, sweet-smelling;
She winked, and he felt his cock swelling!
No harm, then, in trying,
Let on he was buying,
Depending on if she was selling!
Tag: prostitution
Her cards on the table
She explained that she’d not be averse
To some anal, or bondage, or worse;
Pain and suffering too,
Nothing she wouldn’t do!
(Which her fees would, of course, reimburse.)
The oldest profession
She got by, scraped along, rather meagrely,
Selling her favours illegally,
Down on her luck;
A quick, lucrative fuck
Opportunity sought after eagerly!
Beads and trinkets
For a necklace, some such gaudy trinket,
She might … but no! Don’t even think it!
To suck’s bad enough,
But to swallow the stuff!
In a wine glass… would anyone drink it?
Maybe some other time
He might be, as the girl said, a wimp,
But the sight of her sinister pimp,
Though he’d fancied a root,
(God! The size of the brute!)
Left him shaking all over and limp.
The runaway
Pretty runaway, ripe to be rooted,
Sized up by the pimp and recruited,
Picked up on the street,
Young and tender, fresh meat,
For himself to use too, when it suited.
Freelancer
A young journalist, bullied by editors,
One step ahead of her creditors,
Now and then screwed
Men for money or food,
Not, of course, though, the worst of the predators.
Practice versus theory
The best whore ain’t got no heart of gold;
She’s a woman can be bought and sold,
No damn love-talk and shit,
Just get off her damn kit,
And do what a man wants when she’s told.
Meek
Cold and hungry, life bloomin’ well bleak…
This damn toff gave her nipple a tweak…
“Half a crown!” said the nob…
“You ain’t worth but two bob…”
Twisting harder, to hear her squeak.
Passing trade
The young hooker’s a peach, quite a knockout!
At home, his wife’s put him on lockout.
Why not fuck a whore?
With one foot in the door,
Hard already, he’s got his damn cock out!