by Peter Loaf

Portable Prison, some rolling stock
Helmet and shackles, the ticking lock
Blind dumb and helpless
My pussy caress
Pussy lips spreading, creaming for cock

Down a long hallway, wheels on the tile
No way of knowing, nearly a mile
Underground cellar
Like Hellen Keller
Portable prison, Pentagon style

Another touching, buttons undone
My blouse is opened, the fun begun
My nipples perking
My panic lurking
Fingers on clitty, I cannot run

Locked in the iron, gag muffled cries
The hooded blackness, their captured prize
A black ops prison
It’s Cheney’s vision
No rights or mercy, His web of lies