Lust

Lust. Lust. I feel it in my bust.
I want to be the wanton me,
Steep'd in promiscuity.
A woman bound to sleep around,
A whore who'll drop her knickers down
For any guy who'll give her one,
And let her taste the well-spent cum...
That trickles from her pussy lips,
And from a waning penis drips
To stain the sheets and pillow slips.
And all this just... to satiate my burning lust.

Lust. Lust. It really is a must.
For me to lay aside a guy,
And slip my hand inside his fly.
Using lady-like persuasion,
Feel him rise to the occasion.
Offer some exquisite head,
Then taking him on to one's bed...
Where penetration is the norm
For males with duties to perform
For sweethearts feeling moist and warm.
In man I trust... to satisfy my aching lust.

Lust. Lust. I need the cut and thrust
Of excitement in the boudoir,
Two grown people in a hoo-ha.
Sharing intimate affection,
Never wasting an erection.
Always finding that sweet spot,
Fucking hard and breathing hot...
Calling out each other's name
As we play the mating game
With our very latest flame.
I'm so non-plussed... why do I always feel such lust?

Lust. Lust. I think I have it sussed.
I need a man to work his hand
Inside my cunt (to put it blunt).
Whereupon enjoyment triples
As he suckles on my nipples.
In such a case it never hurts
To lay a towel in case one squirts...
As will often be the case
When a man has found that place
Which launches you to outer space.
Shame nor disgust... may ever stem my yearning lust.

Oo-er!