He looked deep in her limpid blue eyes,
And caressed her smooth porcelain thighs.
To the things that he said,
In his small, sweaty bed,
She responded with whimpers and sighs.
Tag: thighs
False surmise
From the way that she’d rolled up her eyes,
And her sighs as he fondled her thighs,
She was ready to go,
So the fact she said no
Was a bit of an awkward surprise!
La belle naïveté
As a true connoisseur, his taste leans
To young girls, in their mid to late teens,
With their innocent eyes,
Their smooth virginal thighs
Second-skinned in their tights or their jeans.
Vile seducer
He gazed into her limpid blue eyes,
Hotly whispered his well-practised lies,
His right hand on her breast,
While the left one caressed
Ever higher between her locked thighs!
Jeans therapy
How he longed to get into her jeans,
By whatever duplicitous means.
He imagined her sighs,
As he stroked her smooth thighs,
And her squishy, warm, pink in-betweens!
Pressing her buttons
Candles, flutes; she relaxed, closed her eyes.
His strong hands rubbed her breasts and her thighs,
So damn sensually
That eventually
She begged “Fuck me!” midst soft moans and sighs.
Making hay while the sun shines
Just a roll in the hay, a quick tumble;
Some rub and tug, wild grope and fumble,
Bare buttocks and thighs;
No false promises, lies;
A good root though… A girl shouldn’t grumble!
Ban the burqa
Between her thighs crouching may lurk a
Mad muslim, a Russian, a Turk, a
Drug fiend, and her breasts
Might be suicide vests…
God! Who knows what she’s got in her burqa?
It might go away
Just the thought of it made her quite ill.
“It’s so big! It won’t fit!”
“Yes it will!”
So she parted her thighs,
Bit her lip, closed her eyes,
And just tried to lie perfectly still.
Upstairs, downstairs
In her little room, up in the attic,
The maid’s heart thumped, wild and erratic!
She stifled her cries;
The Duke spread her white thighs,
Calm, imperious, aristocratic.