“I’m a slut, yeah”, she freely admitted,
A cock in each end, being spitted,
But fucking first class,
Deep throat, pussy or arse,
In fact any-damn-where that it fitted!
Tag: slut
Truth will out
She dripped lace, and her gowns were of satin,
Of course her behavioural pattern,
Her lewd escapades,
Showed, despite her charades,
She was still nothing more than a slattern!
Beneath her dignity
When she woke the next morning, she thought “If I’d
Had a stiff gin, and been fortified,
Maybe, then… but…
To be fucked like some slut!
Well a woman, of course, was quite mortified!”
The language of love
She was deaf-mute, poor slut, but could mime…
Lusty hip-thrusts, lewd gestures… sublime!
Splendid titties as well,
Sparkling eyes! Truth to tell,
To not root her had seemed a damn crime!
Perspicacity
She came fast, with a guttural groan,
Sighed, and said “That was close to the bone,
To have called me a slut!
Which I am, frankly, but
How on earth could you ever have known?”
Free will and determinism
She showed plenty of boob, which was great,
Wore no panties, which didn’t equate
To her being a slut,
Not conclusively, but
At the very least, though, tempting fate!
Like a mink
She not so much walks in as, well, slinks,
Catches some fellow’s eye and she winks;
Tits half out of her dress,
Her arse too, more or less
The damn cheeky, damn hot little minx!
A bit tacky
Pussy trickling a seminal ooze,
Down her thighs, squishing into her shoes,
Too far out of it, though,
To care, even to know
It was there, let alone wonder whose!
Her reputation precedes her
She’s a slut, well, according to fable,
Can drink a man under the table!
What’s more, by repute,
She’s a fabulous root,
So he’s hoping she’ll be true to label!
The sure thing
She’s reportedly fond of the booze,
Not particular much whom she screws;
For the cost of a drink,
And a nudge and a wink,
It would seem that a fella can’t lose!