by Peter Loaf

The paddy-wagon, pulls in the yard
The gates are closing, and under guard
The captive curvy
The sergeant purvey
Sub-basement hustled, intentions hard

Working girl clothing, ripping away
Showing her assets, bound for display
Legs up and spreading
Posed for a bedding
Puta in pokey, stretching three way

Fingers in pussy, tickle and pinch
Rubbing her clitty, swelling an inch
Vibrator buzzing
Her vision fuzzing
Puta in pickle, spread eagle cinch

The captain coming, the soundproof cell
The door is padded, the gates of Hell
The law enforcing
Thereís no recoursing
Her pussy gaping, a fishy smell

Vibrator finding, its way inside
G spot massaging, a thumb applied
Her passion rising
Her passion prizing
Hot leather smacking, the death of pride

Her pussy swollen, she cannot close
The strap comes slapping, her open pose
Her screams do nothing
Her pussy puffing
Her lips are crimson, her open rose

Break in the action, pull up a chair
His tongue comes probing, licking her there
Her scent is rising
His cock is sizing
Passion storm crashing, hardly knows where

Her anus greasing, handful of lard
His organ ready, so big and hard
Vibrator thrusting
The captain lusting
Double fucked puta, the waiting guard

Her night of passion, tied to the bench
Using abusing, the captured wench
The night watch serving
Captain observing
Puta so tired, canít even clench

The long night over, sent on her way
Her clothing shredded, the light of day
Her monthly session
Learning her lesson
Weak kneed she staggers, the price she pay