The sound of the locks
sealing off any escape.
The feel of the crop on my skin,
The heat of his body against mine,
The dry grip of his hands
Caressing,
Squeezing,
Spreading me open.
Mouth
Teeth
Tongue
Hands.
Straps
Crop
Flog
Whip.
I am his attention now,
The sole focus.
He’s reading me,
Monitoring my responses
In – out goes my breath.
Zipper going down,
I writhe in my bindings
As they hold me in place.
His Thrusts,
My Gasping,
In – out goes his breath.
Slowly reaching
toward the Light in my mind.
His hands holding,
And guiding.
His Mind
Meeting me there
Pushing me through
And following me after.
