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Click hereShe’s always felt so natural this way
Her wrists bound up, her body on display.
Tonight she is the actress in his play,
And he her perfect playwright.
Although her eyes are covered, she can see
Her lover’s face and body perfectly,
Her vision no less clear in memory
Than his in dying firelight.
She feels his gaze traverse her naked skin,
Possessive, hungry as it drinks her in.
It seems so right, and yet so like a sin,
To pose and feel him staring.
It’s this subordination she prefers,
And when, at last, that first, soft touch occurs,
It’s for his own enjoyment, not for hers,
So beautifully uncaring.
His mute possession, kneeling on the floor,
She revels in his hands as they explore.
He pulls away. She knows there will be more,
But not from which direction.
His hands come from the rear, a warm surprise,
To grasp again her breasts, her hips, her thighs.
Her hands, behind her, strain against their ties
To find his taut erection.
Perhaps she has inspired him: now he stands.
That hardness she’d been seeking with her hands
Now strokes her face; she quickly understands.
Her mouth prepares to take him.
She seeks him out with moistened, probing lips.
He guides her head with steely fingertips
And thrusts into her mouth with eager hips.
She yields, resolved to slake him.
Her hands imprisoned, she can only trust;
She cannot slow or regulate his thrust.
She takes in what is given her -- she must.
He asks for no permission.
Her lips and tongue are eager to appease.
Ambitions all forgotten but to please,
She services his body from her knees
In powerless submission.
He finally withdraws, still hard and wet,
To carry on their disparate duet.
A tremble indicates he hasn’t yet
Recovered from fellation.
His hands are steady as they take her, though,
And bend her forward to the floor below.
She’s strangely happy, bowed before him so
In sweet humiliation.
He comes around behind her now, to where
Her soft hindquarters rise into the air.
She gasps as one hand soundly slaps her there.
The other comes to press her
Between her thighs, eliciting a plea.
He strikes and strokes in ruthless harmony.
She writhes and bucks, lost in a reverie
Of punishment and pleasure.
Each shudder only further serves to press
Her face into the carpet’s rough caress.
She spreads her aching knees to grant access
And begs for him inside her.
His manhood finds her entrance and remains.
She needs him deeper in. She fights. She strains.
He grasps her bound-up wrists like horses’ reins
And then --
Oh, finally then --
Begins to ride her.
would easily fit Dylan's as words to "She Always a Woman"
your move through the meter so smoothly it is hard to tell it's even there. That's guite a trick! And overall your poem is a great combo of insight, sensitivity and eroticism. Really well done.
I have two comments that I hope you will see as constructive.
1. The poem as stands in rather long and that can be daunting to readers. Maybe break it into two or three sections?
2. The first two lines of the third verse seem to have a pronoun issue to me. Who is kneeling? I know you mean her but that "His" at the beginning of the first line confuses things. I think you could get around it by removing the comma after floor. That will change what follows to restrictive (rather than a parenthetical phrase separated by commas) and the read will more clearly point to it being the woman.
Just my opinions of course. Glad you found the forum. Stick around and write with us!
I found it very sexy; you capture very well the erotic tension inherent in being a submissive. The only thing I would have like to have seen is the metaphor of acting carried on throughout the poem, as I find many aspects of BDSM very theatrical - we even talk of 'scenes' and 'staging.' Overall, though, I liked this and encourage you to keep writing erotic poetry!