-
She farts like a foghorn
And shíts forlorn,
Redly straining with a wince.
Where is her prince?
Her turds pretzeled
As if by machine-press,
Their odor hints
Of last night's peppermints.
Sad, she squalls at both ends.
No squall offends
Her alone in her stall,
Words on the wall.
Her ąss, so taut its cheeks
Once farted in squeaks
And called dogs from hence and thence,
Opens for the rinse.
What brings her here
Every day of the year
To piss and groan and fart
Like a fine art?
No reason for Hades�
Just a lady's
Weakness for the chowder�
Rinse, wipe, powder.
She couldn't get prouder.
So don't you doubt her.
-
She farts like a foghorn
And shíts forlorn,
Redly straining with a wince.
Where is her prince?
Her turds pretzeled
As if by machine-press,
Their odor hints
Of last night's peppermints.
Sad, she squalls at both ends.
No squall offends
Her alone in her stall,
Words on the wall.
Her ąss, so taut its cheeks
Once farted in squeaks
And called dogs from hence and thence,
Opens for the rinse.
What brings her here
Every day of the year
To piss and groan and fart
Like a fine art?
No reason for Hades�
Just a lady's
Weakness for the chowder�
Rinse, wipe, powder.
She couldn't get prouder.
So don't you doubt her.
-
Lon started to back a big mitt out of her, then changed his mind. He stood up and walked to the refrigerator, with her still hanging from his arm well up her midriff, swinging it casually but carefully as he strolled to the appliance. That little gal never stopped moaning all the way, and maybe never even realized they had left the bed. He swung her back onto the covers, as she squealed slightly--or was it that dirty little hiss of hers? Right back to work he went, and she did not resist. He yanked out his fist with the sudden sound of a toilet plunger, then jammed it back again. She only squeaked and squealed with pleasure, without a hint of protest. Her rhythmic moans 'twixt his plunging were to him like assurances he was Casanova's star pupil. He rolled her over and gave her other side the same treatment. After twenty minutes of love he brought his fist out with a sudden pop and kissed the back of her neck quickly and gently. Satisfying his partner was more important to him than achieving satisfaction himself.
'Everything all right?" He heard little squeaks as he rubbed her backside. "Good," he said. There was a long sigh of deep satisfaction as he unscrewed her air valve and her ạss went flat. With this woman, it was like she was not even in bed with you. Her weight did not bend the mattress and roll you downhill into a hole toward her, and she did not fart equine all night, either. Now that she had restored sanity to his life, he could tell the difference. He wished she could cook and was better with the kids, but you couldn't have everything, and at least they did not hate her. As for conversation---Mandyquin knew how to silently support her man, and was not constantly nagging with demands and advice.
Females start out divine and quickly turn bovine in life, he had found, but Mandy would keep her shape. In fact, it was guaranteed.
He had underestimated his desire tonight. He reattached the hose and turned on the air, as she began to make sexy sounds. Then he was on her like a hog on a corn cob.
-
