She's a stripper,
Who strips to stir the crotches of men.
She's a wanton minx,
But that's what she's paid for.
Her curves and back are
Strewn with a dozen of scary tattoos,
That no one can decipher.
Her honey *** is sacred,
Not even millions will win you a dive.
But come one midnight,
Closed from work she is,
A stalker tailed her
Determined to be the first,
Between her sacred thighs.
He waits till an alley draws near,
Then pounces he does.
Her clothes he rips off,
A couple of blows to stun her.
On the ground he forces her,
And into her he thrusts,
Panting in victory and pleasure.
She doesn't fight, she lets him.
And soon, he feels peculiarly hot,
Screaming in agony, he disintegrates,
Only to be ****** into her body.
His face, that of pure anguish
Joining the numerous tattoos
Of faces on her back.
Up she gets, gathers her clothes
And home she went, to strip come
Another night.
Reminds me of a short horror movie I watched when a lesbian stripper ****** the soul of an adamant lover who wanted to have *** with her at all cost. But this is not the plot and it's entirely different from my story on Wattpad.
According to this poem, the stripper is the best but will never agree to have *** with the men no matter how much she's paid. The tattoos on her back are the faces of the unfortunate ones whose souls she has ****** because of her curse. It's a burden to her and she's afraid to love so why not strip and let the men admire but not touch.