He likes
me twisting
in pain as he pauses,
sips a hot coffee,
and watches me bleed.
He likes
me pleading,
as he starts again, fiercer,
as he aims for my girl-parts
where pain will be worst.
He likes
me tossed
on the hard slabs,
still twitching, streaked,
my blood trickling, in pain.
He likes
me warm
and still wet from my whipping,
to welcome his hard tool,
my pain as he triumphs.
He likes
me crawling
back up to his studio,
to pull on my slave-clothes
and whisper, “thankyou Sir.”
My Master likes all this –
and so does his slavegirl.
me twisting
in pain as he pauses,
sips a hot coffee,
and watches me bleed.
He likes
me pleading,
as he starts again, fiercer,
as he aims for my girl-parts
where pain will be worst.
He likes
me tossed
on the hard slabs,
still twitching, streaked,
my blood trickling, in pain.
He likes
me warm
and still wet from my whipping,
to welcome his hard tool,
my pain as he triumphs.
He likes
me crawling
back up to his studio,
to pull on my slave-clothes
and whisper, “thankyou Sir.”
My Master likes all this –
and so does his slavegirl.
