She’s mine.
She thought she was giving herself
but we both know
I took what was mine.
She’s mine.
She’s marked, and proudly waits
to be marked
over and over again.
She’s mine.
It took some time,
some good times, delicious, tasty times,
for her to see
just what she means to me.
Just what I mean to her,
and for her.
She’s mine.
And she never wants
anything to change.
Oh no.
Never resisting the call
of her Master.
To praise him
as she kneels,
gently, slowly, lovingly touching
with fingertips and lips.
To praise him once more
as he thrusts
into the welcoming moisture of passion.
Her screams of lust are music to my ears,
echoing the thanks
she gives as she
wraps her luscious legs
about me,
forcing me, begging me, wanting
and needing me
to use her
over and over again.
She’s mine.
I feel you Master,
oh, fuck, oh, god,
I’m yours,
Master, Master,
yes…
She’s mine.
