Villanelle for O

Now on this table lies your body, bent
and tied and open to our common need.
What now I do, I do with your consent.

Ironic that we're both subservient—
for I must wield the power that you cede
here on this table where your body's bent,

and if I wield it poorly, leave unspent,
unsatisfied your craving, you're not freed.
What I must do is done with your consent.

The crop is stiff. Controlled is my intent,
the force with which I suffer you to plead.
Now on the table of your body, bent

and raw my strokes fall, teasingly torment
your writhing, twisting form. As we agreed,
what now I do, I do with your consent.

When I have lashed us both concupiscent,
I take you, splayed and helpless to my greed.
Now on the table lies your body, bent,
and what I do, I do. And you consent.