by Peter Loaf
English reporter, southern Sudan
Taken to fortress, coffle of slaves
Blinding light shining, shackled and nude
Dancing strappado, arms up behind
English Reporter, pain-sluty bitch
Slave Master signals, the beating stops
Hands on her bottom, her welted cheeks
Forcing orgasms, tongue lashing ride
Nubian missile, so long and thick
Thrusting so slowly, stretching around
Flash-bang exploding, Commando Mitch .
Genocide story, her simple plan
The Nubians came
Treated the same
Kidnapped for ransom, because they can
Forty-two captives, one hundred knaves
Locked up in the dark
Their future so stark
Whispers around her, Nubian ways
Taken off coffle, treated so lewd
She’s hustled below
Nubian to Know
The chain is waiting, would have eschewed
The whip is singing, cutting her spine
The screams she’s screaming
Her pussy creaming
Welted butt burning, she’s in a bind
Assignment taken, scratching her itch
The torture reports
The slavers in forts
Getting her story, waiting for Mitch
Slave honey coating, licking his chops
Coming to kneel
His fingers feel
Pussy drip sniffing, her bottom tops
Tongue like an eel, cervix it seeks
His shoulders lifting
Her pussy gifting
Passion comes crashing, valleys and peaks
His tongue has magic, can’t be denied
His organ growing
His pre-cum flowing
Stripping his clothing, SO BIG AND WIDE?
Dancing before him, ebony prick
His victim spinning
Her asshole pinning
Hoisted behind her, she’s free to kick
Passion gate opened, a keening sound
Mission forgotten
The Hottentoten
Fucking her subbie, new Master found
Waking in chopper, without a stitch
The medic soothing
A creamy cooling
New Master captured, son of a bitch
