al-uk
10-09-2005, 2:55 PM
With apologies to John Betjeman -or what he really wanted to write but didnt dare!!
A Submissive's Love Song
Miss J.Hunter Dunn, Miss J.Hunter Dunn,
Whenever we wrestled, you usually won
What strenuous matches we played after tea,
There in the wrestling ring - you against me!
You straddled me, scissored me and, weakness of joy,
you sat on the face of this admiring boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn
Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won,
As your shapely young bottom pressed hard in my face,
I felt my defeat was hardly disgrace.
Miss J.Hunter Dunn, Miss J.Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
With your foot on my neck, as you twisted my limb,
I had no real choice but submit to your whim
On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts,
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And there on my face, just thinking its fun,
Sat my glorious victor, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.
By roads "not adopted", by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
And I lay beneath her, across the front seat,
But all I could see was her skirt's narrow pleat.
Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the fun has begun,
But my arms are secured by a tight silken band,
And I'm made to perform by this tennis-girl's hand!
Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my face is the girl of my choice,
and I listen with awe to the sound of her voice.
And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous squatting ahead.
She sat on my face until twenty to one
So now I'm the slave of Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.
A Submissive's Love Song
Miss J.Hunter Dunn, Miss J.Hunter Dunn,
Whenever we wrestled, you usually won
What strenuous matches we played after tea,
There in the wrestling ring - you against me!
You straddled me, scissored me and, weakness of joy,
you sat on the face of this admiring boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn
Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won,
As your shapely young bottom pressed hard in my face,
I felt my defeat was hardly disgrace.
Miss J.Hunter Dunn, Miss J.Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
With your foot on my neck, as you twisted my limb,
I had no real choice but submit to your whim
On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts,
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And there on my face, just thinking its fun,
Sat my glorious victor, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.
By roads "not adopted", by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
And I lay beneath her, across the front seat,
But all I could see was her skirt's narrow pleat.
Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the fun has begun,
But my arms are secured by a tight silken band,
And I'm made to perform by this tennis-girl's hand!
Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my face is the girl of my choice,
and I listen with awe to the sound of her voice.
And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous squatting ahead.
She sat on my face until twenty to one
So now I'm the slave of Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.