Beneath the Master's Whip

My insolence pinions me helpless;
my pretentiousness pangs my soul, he tells me.

He castigates my arrogance;
chastens my confidence.

He quells my selfishness;
ridicules my certainty.

He teaches me humility;
develops my modesty.

I am obedient, venerating his disciplined strength and stature.
I am solemn; consumed with reverence at his mastery.

The lurid crack of his whip, as I hold his gaze in the mirror intoxicates me.
The harrowing lick of the leather against my flesh releases tears of misguided self-righteousness.

My svelte frame is erubescent, he shows no mercy.
My skin is on fire, an erotic philter for the debauchery about to unfold.

I writhe in anticipation of his lewd touch, his indecent words.
My bound hands heighten my arousal; it's natural, instinctual.

He will take me like a savage raid on a meager village;
like an alpha beast claiming its mate.

His touch is violent, forceful, vehement.
His kiss is lecherous, demanding, passionate.

He mounts me, pleased with my desperate pleas.
I am spread open for him, for his taking, his sexual gratification.

His skilled venery excites me; I am his captive, submissive; acquiesce to his will.
He takes me salaciously, as the surge of tension is released through my core.

I have found my serenity, my deliverance, my repose.

Beneath the Master' s whip.