The Loyal Servant's Prayer

As a servant I am offered, with my body spread and bound,
With the sweetest pain of worship ringing clear in every sound-
That my agonies may please Her, I shall labor without rest,
For the Goddess that I worship I shall pass through any test.

Hours kneeling without comfort, aching skin on frigid stone,
With the toll of every hour making clear a ruthless tone,
Simply praying for Her favor, in the hopes of pain to feel,
All for Her exquisite pleasure is this servant's soft appeal.

My faith has not been fruitless, and my reverie is seen,
A whisper speaks a promise of a lash most sharp and keen.
Since pain is her great pleasure, I would happily fulfill,
Her every whim and want I can, each figment of her will.

My back is bare, and body bent, I hope that my display
Will serve to add enjoyment to the cruelty of Her play.
I feel Her presence nearing and I marvel just to know
That I satisfy desire even as a slave so low.

I am, in truth, ascending, as my Goddess flicks the whip,
My stinging flesh is favored by the flying, cracking tip.
My pain will serve to quench Her thirst, and every stroke will bless,
Will elevate me to her feet, and so through pain I press.

Although, of course, my body burns, my soul with glory sings.
Like any other time, I feel the flight that Her touch brings.
I soar as living tribute into deep red moonlit skies,
The searing beauty of Her whip- a glorious, high prize.

At last, when She has had her fill, when my fervent prayer is done,
I know my place is at her feet, with welts that I have won.
With weariness, I softly move to lie before Her throne,
And know that I am truly hers, am loved, and not alone.