BY CHRISTOPHER LEESON
Mar. 22, 2016
It was hard now to focus her plan,
Held in the arms of a man.
She gasped, full of heat,
As his lips pinched her teat.
He was coming on like the god Pan.
Moe's hugging made Lulu mere putty,
Melting and utterly slutty.
Her desire was burning,
A slave to the yearning.
Every thought in her head became muddy.
His technique attained Lulu's yielding,
As if the black arts he was wielding.
The cop was full in,
Succumbing to sin,
Her body electric with feeling.
Lu now wished to God for the act,
But to her sly Moe turned his back.
The blonde gave a curse;
It was torture, or worse.
She tried to drag him to the sack.
Moe obligingly went to the sheets;
'Twas time for his manliest feats.
Soon the nail-hard street cop
Was crying, "Don't stop!"
Like a paid-for chacha of the streets.
He was playing Lu like a French horn;
Should she yell, swear, or beg? She was torn.
Her lack of control
Was taking its toll;
She let out a small yelp forlorn.
Vallant built up speed for the goal,
Like a steam engine blazing with coal.
He swung up on top
And just would not stop,
As firm as telephone pole.
This was the first instant when
Lulu went gaga for men.
Her girl-side awoke
With one deep, deep stroke;
Tomorrow she'd crave it again.
The curvaceous babe gave a jolt,
Receiving Moe's warm, liquid bolt.
Her hips hard upthrust
And her mind fogged with lust,
Like stung by some ten thousand volts.
To Be Continued...