The Cross

Cool, hard wood
Pressing against
Your spine
Broad straps
On your ankles
Holding your legs
Wide apart
Straps on your wrists
Stretching your muscles
Taut
Your feet still
On the ground
Just
Your beautiful angry eyes
Covered
Depriving you
Of precognition
Leaving you with only
Anticipation
Of the unknown

I stand before you now
Naked
You feel the dry heat
Of my body
On your damp hot
Skin
I hear your breathing quicken
As I set my nails
On your wrists
Just below the leather
You gasp
Almost a sob
As my nails begin their slow decent
Along your arms
Over your shoulders
Down your back
To your waist
Sensation in stereo

A finger on your inner thigh now
Sliding though
The wetness
That is not sweat
Lingering
Teasing
You gasp in outrage
Thrust your hips outwards

But no
Not yet
My black barbarian bitch princess
You will surrender
I have patience
You feel the back of my fingers
Stroke your cheek
As I leave you
To suffer