Unpleasant Developments: Yiffmas Bonus.
#8 of Unpleasant Developments
I was saving this bit for the holiday rush, but what the hell. Enjoy!
'Twas the night before Yiffmas, and here on the bed,
a furry ballsack loomed over my head.
The curtains were drawn, and the lights just put out, to keep people from prying right into the house.
The house itself gave out one single long creak,
like sighing away a massive work-week.
And so Allan with his whip stock, and I in my straps,
had just readied our tools for a long dirty fap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I told Allan to go, and see what was the matter.
Away to the window he flew like a flash,
presenting a view of his gods-sculpted ass.
The moon on her breasts, the colour of coal
Gave a lustrous sheen to the pink skin below
and then I screamed out, "Oh smeg, it's Blackthorn!
She's probably here to film us for porn!"
"Why hello there Luke, I guess you know why I'm here,
I just wanted to play with my fav-o-rite queers!"
More rapid than horses, she leaped on the bed
Mussing and messing our favorite lace spread.
"Now take me, and plow me, and mess me up right!" "No way in hell is this a good night!" On top of my husband, she jumped with no shame
Leaving me wondering, "Now just what's her game?"
She straddled and moaned, as we thrusted and bucked,
leaving me questioning our terrible luck.
To constantly fall prey to this cock-hungry cat,
And why I work for her, I mean, what's up with that?
And then, in a twinkling, I Watched Allan's bum
Rise up and down as he started to cum.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Sylvia made this fierce growling sound.
"Oh no you don't, get back here, double time!
Or else you'll be walking in the unemployed line!"
And so with chagrin, I began to turn back,
wondering if her head could take a haymaker's crack.
So I returned to thrusting, and Allan he sucked,
With Sylvia calling me her personal fuck. And then her mouth began to tighten and twist, her lips matching the pink on the end of her tits.
Oh how she squeezed, how ungodly it felt,
each moan like a lash from an iron-stud belt,
suddenly warmth burst out from her spot,
a feminine liquid poured out of her twat!
She leaked all over the bedspread without any guilt, so I questioned the way that the gods had her built. When waves began to erupt from my waist,
telling me to hump with unholy haste.
A weight began to get set in my guts,
and my head had been filled with fabulous butts.
I knew know, with a floodgated load,
it would soon be all over, and she'd leave us alone.
Her voice grew so loud, the dead must've heard it, as she started to yell at the moment I squirted:
"I gotta say, Luke, your résumé's right, ,
you certainly give a great Yiffmas night!"
And so this little poem comes to an end. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Hope this staves off any "not four more months!" thoughts. Also, thanks to Clement Clarke Moore for this great meter and tempo!