The Slave For Mistress

Slave
Mistress

The chains Mistress keeps upon me mark me as her slave
in holding me so cruelly she gives me what I crave
wrists and ankles linked with slack enough to walk
collar locked about my neck with Mistress’s name engraved.
I go about my duties here in dress provocative,
with stockings black, seams so straight, Mistress does insist
and heels that I must teeter on that lift my head so high;
to please in every way I can and reason here to live.

The silver links make such pretty sound as I move around,
in dusting here and sweeping there as quiet as a mouse
I try not to disturb her much or to displease at all.
to do so might invoke her wrath and earn a beating harsh,
but somehow in each working day some anger I incur
I drop a cup, or bang a door, or fail to clean a stain;
things that engender such a frown, and promises of pain.
Mistress says I do such things that will worst incur her wrath,
as when the water is in error one degree when I run her bath
or when my tongue fails to clean her boots to glossy shine;
which I know will bring punishment as she decides in time.

My protested innocence of no avail, her retribution certain,
I must fetch an instrument from where she keeps them hid
set to receive such punishment as will befit the crime,
while I’m prostrate upon the cross and wait as I am bid.
Sometimes she ties me in that pose for an hour or two,
to give me some reflecting time to think on what I’ve done
though I think as ornament I am there for such regarding,
ignoring me while she gets on with things she has to do.
But stretched and tied I know full well, I will receive my due,
and bound that way serves only to increase anticipation,
as I test the knots she’s used on me to force my body open.

For Mistress is my owner now, and can do just what she chooses.
Will I be made to count each stroke, measuring my bruises?
To place them in the neatest lines across my tender flesh
missing those fading from yesterday to give me welts so fresh.
As Mistress tests my neediness by drawing finger wet,
making me to suck myself, acknowledging my heat.
I try to hide my needs from her, I really really do,
but betrayed somehow as my flooding self-makes clear.
I tense myself and bite my lip as whip-strokes land quite hard,
but I feel myself rising up to meet each one that falls.

Mistress has forbidden me to climax here at all
but oh it is so difficult, like that, not to cum withal.
She knows full well that I cannot resist her falling whip
bringing me to peak each time while I hold myself away.
I’ve been told that if I cum with six more I’ll have to pay;
right now that seems a bargain fair, I need to cum this way.
And so with the next cut I have, I can’t hold myself in check
and shudder as my scream is that of some unearthly being,
the cross itself creaks as if to break as I strain in throes of joy.

Not me, that is not me at all, for I am someone far away,
lost in a sea blazing pain as ecstasy releases what I am.
A rapid six falls across me now, though I am oblivious to it all
I hang and quake upon the cross in ropes that hold me so.
Mistress leaves me there like that, in ways she knows so well.
Hanging, used, a fractured shell, knowing I’ve been through hell
To reach sweet paradise of pain where I need to suffer more.
E’er long my Mistress will come to cut me down and I can resume
my duties as her servant boy, unless of course, she wants me
for use in other ways that that only Mistress can presume.

The Sassy One…

Hannah

866-930-0008 x 307

 

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