The whorehouse cries, in throes of pleasure spake;
Ten vixens of their prostitution make.
Within these walls, these girls dress up, and then
let in the customers to pick again.
A preference for silky, lacy strings,
or frilly dresses, hinting at some things.
Exotic clothes and styles from afar,
Erotic shows, enticing though they are,
A single mare, his choice of one will make,
for only one of them he can partake.
And, chosen by the customer, she'll go
To private rooms, to let him see below
The clothing that she sheds, her flesh divine,
And sensual, she'll often lay supine.
Where face to face, her lover then is placed
between her legs, he finds himself encased:
The brothel takes his money and his pride,
and always will his presence be denied.
One daughter lives among the brothel serfs,
A prostitute, yet princess; not by birth.
For Twilight, both the time and given name,
her father will, this eve, find out her shame.
He raps his hoof upon the brothel doors;
the matron greets him, calling down her whores.
The mares, they gather 'round for him to pick,
one with, to spend a night alone; no trick.
Their dresses, they attract his roaming eyes,
and hide from him their secret winking prize.
He judges them, with silent nodding head,
to pick the one by whom he shall be led.
His daughter blushes pink from, ear to ear;
a secret harbored in her heart: a fear.
Her faux disguise, her royal stature hid
beneath the cloth, she hopes for others' bid.
His hoof is raised as he selects his mare.
Her heart sinks as it raises now, to bear
upon her visage, now, despite her mask.
Her cover keeps, she follows with her task.
And so she leads; he follows down the hall.
An empty room, a bed, it welcomes all.
She wonders if she shouldn't run and hide;
her life here she would have to toss aside.
For though her mark is masked, he knows her well,
and if he sees her true without her shell,
he might go out and speak what's been unheard,
the truth about her that would seem absurd.
She knows the steps she is about to take,
A chance she risks, he'll know that she is fake!
The door, it swings behind them, closing tight.
Her fate is sealed, she's stuck with him this night.
Her lips, they shake, with fear of unknown fate
for now, she is committed, far too late.
to stop an act her father will transgress:
he shoves her down, he strips her of her dress.
She gasps, her mask asunder torn as well.
He recognizes her! And, damned to hell,
he presses on, his swole erection throbs
against her supple flank; it rubs and bobs.
Her hesitation keeps herself in check,
her reputation here, she should not wreck.
But, truth be told, for him, she has a lust
To be with one whom she could always trust.
He loves her truly, in both soul and mind,
and body now, they will be intertwined.
She knows that there is danger in the air;
a punishment that both would have to bear.
For, if they're caught, they'll both be put to lethe,
she knows this is the risk; she gasps for breath.
She opens wide her maw, her thirst to slake:
a longing for his essence now to take.
She plunges down her head upon his shaft
and swallows past the ring that marks his mast.
She vocalizes moans and grunts, and when,
within her body, orally, he then
groans out a cry, a peak that he has reached,
her gag suppressed, her sanctuary breached.
He blows his white ejaculate therein,
her throat, she swallows, taking it within.
She opens up her mouth, an empty cave;
a secret they will both take to their grave.
He peers upon her tongue, so empty now.
The moment passes, then he does avow:
his turgid shaft, a second round, again.
A fertile field he wants to plow, and then!
Her heat, he'll quell, to satisfy her need.
She pauses, so uncertain to take seed,
And shakes her head, a hard emphatic, 'no'.
He pleads with her, her horn begins to glow.
A spell is cast, her field, now barren place
His seed she wants, a child not to grace.
He mounts her now, his swollen member crave
a journey far into her beggard cave.
She bucks against him, feeling slick with need.
He acquiesces, slowly gaining speed,
And thrusting deeper into depths forbid,
his lusting shaft completely in his kid,
her field, so longing for him, now is plowed:
She cries his name, he calls hers out aloud.
Their forms collide, her pleasure raises high,
her essence sprays upon his thrusting thigh.
And in the throes of passion, she was brought
to heaven, where she entertains the thought
to bear his foal, their love be given life;
Ashamed that she could never be his wife.
In envy of her mother's special bond,
she lifts her spell, new futures just beyond.
He throbs and kicks within her sacred place;
conception now a risk, she does embrace
Her father, and now father of her own —
she loves him more than any golden throne.
The morning comes, he leaves her at the bed.
She lays there, satisfied, and wholly bred.
The day ahead, so full of royal tasks
She does it all, and then puts back her mask.
Her father, now a father once again,
Will visit that old brothel now and then.
And for her he will evermore inquire,
and happy she will take of his desire.
And when he's gone, she'll take what she can get,
To wait again - a wait she won't regret.
Tonight, again, his absence clearly felt,
a customer for whom she's posed and knelt.
Another comes and goes without a fuss,
she'll go again to get another, thus,
debased and taken by the common herd —
a horn upon her brow, and wings like bird —
Her status, not permitting her defil'd;
Her life she loves, this prostituting child.
Author's Note
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