Turkish Toilet
by Peter Loaf

Top sergeant’s daughter, out on the town
Byzantine buildings, people around
Shopping for presents
Feeling a presence
Her father’s captain, chuckling sound

“Aha I’ve got you, off limits here”
“Let me escort you, people to fear”
“White slavers trolling”
Elbow he’s pulling
Out a back doorway, a well cut steer

Instead of exit, Turkish toilet
To tell of the smell, only spoil it
Spin in confusion
A small contusion
Stunned for a moment, never foil it

A hoodwink cinching, cutting off air
Her jeans he’s cutting, favorite pair
Her body tackled
Her hands are shackled
Half naked helpless, serving up rare

Inside the hoodwink, fighting for life
Choking and gasping, touch of his knife
The Zip tie released
She’s nearly deceased
Gasping and crying, trouble and strife

Ball gag he’s pressing, front of her hood
Stretching the sacking, gags her but good
Her tee shirt lifting
A small kiss gifting
Slave woman’s training, because he could

Grunting protesting, the captain plays
Panties removing, pussy displays
Hoisted and spreading
Where is he heading
Licker slit suckle, it would amaze

Hot wet and horny, time for the cane
Spread wet and swollen, mind blanking pain
Orgasms crashing
Hot urine splashing
Hoodwink removal, big yellow stain

The captain naked, strutting around
His body well oiled, formed and well found
The sergeant’s daughter
To sell or barter
That place in Kuwait, the pussy pound?

Making his fortune, white slaver trade
Ten times the money, the Air Force paid
Crated and carted
From family parted
To desert palace, infidel maid

Turkish Toilet