My heart pumps and pumps
and every nerve tingles at the sight
stretched before me on tiptoe.
I see by the heaving of your chest,
pounds a tempo in pace with my own,
anticipating whatever I decide
will come next.
Wrists snugged
by ungiving cuffs of steel,
vision stolen
by a hood of soft leather
you can do nothing but wait
in ever-swelling fear.
Gasping for oxgen,
lovely pink lips part
straight white teeth contrasting
with cheeks and throat
flushed with passion
that tempt and draw my lips
to kiss and bite
and tongue with the very tip
across your sensitive upper lip.
Holding you close,
I enjoy the lithe curves.
Stroking lightly and caressing
your fair-skinned ass,
in my mind seen as it soon will be
striped with scarlet lines,
the crimson kisses
of thick leather whips and cruel canes
and a riding crop
that will make you cry,
or,
at the very least make you cry out.
Your smooth belly,
the site of a tumultuous struggle
between
aching arousal, a longing
for me to commence,
and the undigestible terror
which knots itself,
certain of that torture, suffering, and pain.
From pants grown too tight,
I pull my hard cock
full and thick with blood,
hard,
aching for a relief
for which
I enjoy making myself wait
and wait.
Our roles clear,
understood by both:
one to give pleasure,
aroused at knowing
through every stripe and
clamp crushed nipple,
how much your surrender
excites and pleases your Master,
and the other to receive
that amazing gift.
For a moment
the distractions of school and family
and the chattering
of the thousand voices
(the loudest your own thoughts)
cease to clutter and
crowd your mind,
freeing you to be
a simple object
of input and response.
To become, in short,
a pleasure slave.
Unable perhaps.
unwilling for certain,
to do anything
but that
which you are commanded.
I raise the whip with its
nine thick leather tails and
after an agonizing pause,
explode your body
with its impact,
forcing an animal-like
squeal from your throat.
My lips
by your ears whisper,
“Quiet now, slave...”
and as you nod
a second blow crosses the first.
The response now
just a moan.
My fingers find the soft wet flesh
of your swollen vulva
and tease you
until your body shivers,
smiling, I take away my hand
and again make you wait.
An act, I know
that is as cruel
as the whip I raise
to again mark you
as, for a moment at least,
my property.