Her pussy pogged in Barbadós
While high above the albatross
es's dicks were getting blown
By sultry winds. A fecund crown
Of warty thorns around my glans.
The dick pic taken in advance
In hopes my holy idol, graven,
Would satiate her pussy's cravings
For the ecstasy of revelation.
She lived somewhere under that island nation's
Oppressive government regime.
She told me that she had a scheme
To transfer to me money: in advance
Should I provide credentials to accounts
Wherein she would perform her craft.
Her avatar was pretty and my staff
Arose, so knowing it would part
Her blood-engorged, pulsating heart
Of Guadalupe; her Red Sea, foaming
Around my Moses, penetrating, roaming
For forty days without a rest, inside her.
I sent the image and I tried to
Nudge her into giving it a look
With zeal I hit "Refresh". She took
Her goddamn time yet I should not complain
Considering the months I spent, in vain,
Donating to the vicious succubi
Of that accursed "Twitch TV"! A try
After begotten try to get them to undress
I threw them bits and baubles and I stress
That NO SUM WORKED. A "simp" reduced
To BibleThumps in chat! Too late adduced
The trick these Eves had played on me.
What cruel Liliths did they prove to be.
But now an e-mail, finally arrived,
The smile (emoticon), so warm and wide
And further on, the words "hey sexy"
Reverberated to my testes
Which twitched in joyous exaltation
Aware that their ignoble station
As guardians of an antediluvian amount
Of jism (which would only spout
Once an online female gave assent)
Would be relieved. The pic I sent
was "hot" and "could you type in your address?"
I knew right then that I was blessed,
That nevermore would I be "simp" or "stan"
To a conniving harlot! My IBAN
I shared with her and now it seems
It's been two days, yet vivid dreams
Still haunt my nights, how in that moment
The crested member of her prophet
Had surely made her drool with want
From gaping lips, a veritable pond
Of sticky reverence for me, her saviour.
I wait for her reply with laboured
breaths. The spearhead pricks of doubt
Are merely clock-ticks 'till my dick, devout,
At once ascends, unfastened from this cross.
I know her pussy pogged in Barbadós.