by Peter Loaf
The bell hop knocking, jacket and cap
The door swings open, walk into trap
The room is empty
His wallet tempting
His voice from the bath, a running tap
Walking out naked, towel in place
The bell hop blushes, a tinny taste
The towel tenting
My ass he’s renting
First time in penthouse, my needing faced
Rough trade young hooker, Hotel Pussy
Sent up to penthouse, by Madame Lucy
His hand on my rear
His suitcase of gear
His fingers finding, wet and juicy
Four poster posing, shedding my clothes
Naked and helpless, the cuffs that closed
A gag surprising
Inflated sizing
A hoodwink tying, my wetness shows
He sits behind me, gripping my tit
His naked body, his stiffened tip
Laying back sighing
Services buying
Hooker delivered, hoisted to sit
Riding His pony, pro that I am
Milking his organ, tight as I can
Premium paying
I know I’m staying
Subbie lust flooding, Masterly man
Thrusting and busting, cannot escape
Shackled in irons, faking my rape
His organ stroking
My pussy poking
Fingers grip titties, taking new shape
My passion rising, my nasal screams
Bouncing and flouncing, my wettest dreams
We two become one
Orgasmic our fun
What happens in Vegas, consciousness streams
The weekend stretching, into fortnight
Room service meals, bars holding tight
Fed wed and bedding
Where is this heading
Little pill taking, His holy rite
A fortune spending, he doesn’t care
Twenty-four/seven, keeping me there
Face down in shackles
The paddle smackles
Pink hot and juicy, rode like a mare
After departure, Lucy comes up
The shackles open, paying my cut
Fortnight rate paying
Premium staying
A fortune in Euros, poor swollen butt
