He doesn’t struggle

He lays there

Waiting for me to

Release him

It is torture


I do like to be in control

He cannot see


Not quite sure what to expect

He moans

A mixture of pleasure

And pain

Scratching my nails

Across the contours

Of his hardness

Then soft feather like strokes



With a whip

Surprising, with it’s sharpness

Almost ready now

Flirting with thighs

I watch him quiver

Eagerly expectant

Feeling him firm

Within my throat

Loving his anguished cries

And the silence that follows

Then the crash

As he goes completely limp

Resting, getting the strength

To please me back