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Inspired by a friend who called her vagina a peepee
Pamela was a princess

Prim and proper was her style

Pickiness personified

Perfection made her smile.

She knew the proper people

Played polo (always won)

Putting people in their places

Was Pam’s idea of fun.

Her suitor, Peter Perrin

(A prick who drove a Porsche)

Professed to be a pilot

A perfect one of course.

Now, Peter thought he’d pulled the wool

Across Pam’s pretty eyes

But from Pamela’s perspective

It was she who’d picked the prize.

His pretensions Pam found pointless

She wasn’t partial to his prattle

But the profile of his leather pants

Had piqued her interest in his tackle.

Pete took her on a picnic

Some pleasantries were passed

And after pate and a spot of port

He paused to make a pass.

Pam’s pulse had started pumping

And she pleaded with her eyes

“Please perpetrate some passion

Between these precious thighs.”

The proportions of Pete’s penis grew

He could feel himself get plumper

He thought, “Pam’s perfect little honey-pot

I probably will plunder.”

The pair’s passion overpowered them

Improper urges grew defiant

And Pete became more rampant

As Pam became more pliant.

With pinafores and petticoats

And scruples pushed aside

Pete placed her in position

Pam’s eyes and legs all opened wide.

As she groped for Peter’s package

Pam was pleasantly surprised

For what her palm had wrapped around

Appeared to be of princely size.

Pamela gripped his pubic probe

And coyly pouted with her lips

“I’ll need some preparation

Prior to partaking all of this.”

Despite his disappointment

(His own priorities seemed superior)

To protect his reputation

He passed on pretending not to hear her.

So, with purpose, Pete decided

That his partner he would pamper

And prior to penetration

She would, hopefully, be damper.

With a peck upon her pretty neck

Our protagonist crept lower

Past nipples, pert and perky

Towards that perfect, perfumed flower.

Presently, at her pelvis

Pete paused and peeked, amused

And passed a pithy compliment

On Pam’s neatly clippered pubes.

Apparently quite speechless

Swept up with passion and with pride

Between her gasping and her panting

Pam whispered an aside.

“Ppput your lips upon my special place”

As she pressed on Peter’s head

And despite his plans to probe her

Pete was pleased at what Pam said.

So, poised at Pamela’s portal

With lips appropriately placed

He prepared to give her pleasure

But then pulled a puzzled face.

“There’s paper there” he spluttered

Unprepared for what he spied

For perched upon Pam’s pink bits

Despite Pam’s personal pride.

A patch of perfumed paper

(Of leaping porpoises design)

Remained from a previous patting

That pesky piece was left behind.

Poor Pam was apoplectic

Her painful shame complete

She pitied her own repulsiveness

In front of princely Pete.

“I’ve got paper on my pee-pee!”

“My shame is palpable I fear.”

And pausing only to put her top on

Pam wept a pearly tear.

Poor Pamela departed

Apace (that’s pretty fast)

Leaving Pete to ponder

What perversions might have passed.

So up Pete popped and plodded off

In quite a plaintive plight

“There’ll be no plunging for my python now -

Perhaps a monkey-spanking night.”

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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