Song of a Young Lady to her Many Simps

Of Aella and her Surveys: On a Muse Wilmot Might have Wished

Follow Me on Twitter: @FromKulak

My Dearest ones, for whom I 
from the waiting suitors fly.
I see you rising, standing bold,
aching, yearning, for my hold.
But what moves you so possessed?
The bare behind? The cleft of breast?
Which one makes you stand so proud... 
How so was your mother endowed?

My Dears!? You rise as if in rage.
Please-please return! Don't close the page.
Back to my breast, my warm embrace.
1 to 5, how hot's mixed race?
And if a prize you could have won,
The joyless 9, or lusty 1.
Would you impose upon true grace?
Or gorge yourself? ignore her face.

My dearest ones I need to know!
All that lustful love might sow.
If you'd see my legs apart,
then show me first your shameful heart!
And if my 10 you might just claim, 
but cruel barb, upset your aim...
Would you have me 12 years young?
Or would you have me 91?

Wait! Dearest ones, don't be such scolds!
Don't play the prudish woman's role.
You who'd trace my every fold,
let me likewise delve your soul.
'Tis when we're at our most perverse,
cast back to Eve her modest curse,
we sail on heaven's fertile seas:
Deprave in burning fantasy!

Ah. But you rise again I see.
Bewitched! I've grasped you through the screen.
Let in your hearts that most obscene 
and tell your lusting dreams to me.
So shamelessly let out your purr,
Feel building fast the quick'ning stir.
Wear with pride your browser's log.
Dears, reach down and get... Analog💞

If you had to fuck a dog...

Aella

can be read at

Knowingless

or followed on Twitter @Aella_Girl

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Follow Me on Twitter: @FromKulak

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