by Peter Loaf
Caravan trekking, the endless miles
Defenders dying, the raging horde
The chattel women, taken away
The Lord of the Horde, defiant cry
His sword flat knocking, ending the fuss
Her mouth positioned, the perfect height
Pause in the action, a flogging rod
Fucking her windpipe, gargle and gasp
Subbie space wander, pleasure and pain
The morning chilly, the desert wind
The steps of Asia, the empty land .
A scout positioned, the rocky piles
The forces gather
The horses lather
At dawn attacking, the ruthless smiles
Caravan captured, point of the sword
Merchants and chattel
Herded like cattle
Barbarous warrior, the Mongol lord
Stripped of their clothing, beauty display
Sex slaves in coffle
Their prospects awful
Hands tied behind them, the rapists play
Spirited beauty, catches his eye
Rapist confusing
Naked knee bruising
Rapist lies writhing, under the sky
Waking up helpless, her boobies trussed
A tent pole to hold
The rebel of old
Her Master standing, His look of lust
His member swollen, fitting so tight
Her gargle gagging
Her tonsils bagging
Gripping her tresses, she does not bite
Nipples exploding, riding rough shod
Rebel reforming
Passion dance storming
Hard-tied and helpless, attitude mod
Her features bluing, coming at last
His semen swallow
There’s more to follow
The rebel’s breaking, His pleasant task
The slave within her, rises again
Sex and submission
Barbarous mission
Her function learning, pulling a train
The coffle walking, trekking begin
The rebel riding
Saddle horn hiding
His charger prancing, his cock within
Her juicy pussy, much in demand
Barbarian horde
Her apple cored
His charger charging, rebel’s last stand
