Lift your skirts and face the wall. Such good pain,
De Sade’s pain, takes a cane to make your pawg
wobble. With three strokes I’ll break you, again.
There’s an art to the trounce, the wax, the flog.
It’s how I flayed «Z» into your tush. Blush
with what smolders under your petticoat.
First the gush of endorphins, then the rush.
We drop loony toons, microdot, blue goat
so that old-school worlds open. Once I kissed
you. That was wrong. It’s hard being discrete
when it comes to craft but splattering cum
like paint is absurd. A flick of my wrist
brings forth new terror. New wisdom. New heat
freeing you from flesh. Bondage is freedom.