I right you Mistress
She walks into the green room
Gives hugs all around then
like a sub who’s had enough collapses
in my arms.
My Mistress,
I can’t touch without permission
yet I took in her scent
pressed her into me,
her hot breaths erasing
anxiety, insecurity that stirred in me.
It was our night
our audience awaited
to see our play unfold
Yes leather, yes dominance, yes submission
and pain
she rummaged through her suitcase of accouterments
looking for that single tail, whip or knife to
tenderize my back with.
We’ve done this dance before
in private and on stage
underneath
the heat of the lights and collective silence of the audience
a deeper intimacy goes unnoticed.
Two pros engaged in creative exchange.
Yes play, but definitely procreating
without reservations
artistic instincts on high
as we set out to inspire
give you something to Tweet about.
She felt my vibe
she had to the way I did hers
the audience, numbed by our chemistry, did too.
Each come up to us one by one, smiles wider than
the black smile on Mistress’ face, eyes dilated
from witnessing artistic souls colliding on stage.
Mistresses come and go
bruises disappear
brandings fade
artistic exchange remains in my core.
She’s the first artist I’ve mixed intimacies with.
I am her first too,
first butch
first pretty boi, first papi
and want nothing more than to
make her smile and call me love
even if she puts me in a corner
silent, newbie voyeur watching
women’s bodies slither over
across each other,
turning the Moroccan
room upside down
to exchange kisses
caresses and finger fucks.
Lips on tits, asses and pussies
my lips dry from heavy breathing
as all I can do is watch and lust.
Shit I don’t give a fuck, put that plump ass on my head,
fuck her brains out on top of me,
ride that bitch hard, grind in my face
tie her to my waist as she sucks on my titties.
Ordered us to manhandle you, more fingers than you can count
crawling over you
till you put us to bed.
You are happy, pleased with the performance
pleased with our performance.
You remember, said so yourself…perfect
Like my ass in those leather pants
like your bondaged breasts
like your ass grinding on my cock
the one you grab so freely
making sure that like your
Slave, it’s at attention
for you.
You wanted me to write you a poem
so I right you Mistress
cause this will be the third…
Carve a cross
Across my chest
Or hit me
hit me back to heaven
through ceremonial play
I’ve discovered
the paint in the dark
the touch all that you eat
the blow beautiful notes side of you.
Ain’t no secret that I think you’re hot
I enjoyed just massaging you
unloosening the knots in your calves
warming up your ovaries,
knotting my fingers around your ass
pulling your toes
being spread over you
getting wetter
as imagined what it would feel
to fuck you
to burry my face in between your ass cheeks
and feast on it.
You said it best
“I love our relationship”
you inspire me
to be creative
to be nice
to be positive and loving
to be sensual and sexual
Gives hugs all around then
like a sub who’s had enough collapses
in my arms.
My Mistress,
I can’t touch without permission
yet I took in her scent
pressed her into me,
her hot breaths erasing
anxiety, insecurity that stirred in me.
It was our night
our audience awaited
to see our play unfold
Yes leather, yes dominance, yes submission
and pain
she rummaged through her suitcase of accouterments
looking for that single tail, whip or knife to
tenderize my back with.
We’ve done this dance before
in private and on stage
underneath
the heat of the lights and collective silence of the audience
a deeper intimacy goes unnoticed.
Two pros engaged in creative exchange.
Yes play, but definitely procreating
without reservations
artistic instincts on high
as we set out to inspire
give you something to Tweet about.
She felt my vibe
she had to the way I did hers
the audience, numbed by our chemistry, did too.
Each come up to us one by one, smiles wider than
the black smile on Mistress’ face, eyes dilated
from witnessing artistic souls colliding on stage.
Mistresses come and go
bruises disappear
brandings fade
artistic exchange remains in my core.
She’s the first artist I’ve mixed intimacies with.
I am her first too,
first butch
first pretty boi, first papi
and want nothing more than to
make her smile and call me love
even if she puts me in a corner
silent, newbie voyeur watching
women’s bodies slither over
across each other,
turning the Moroccan
room upside down
to exchange kisses
caresses and finger fucks.
Lips on tits, asses and pussies
my lips dry from heavy breathing
as all I can do is watch and lust.
Shit I don’t give a fuck, put that plump ass on my head,
fuck her brains out on top of me,
ride that bitch hard, grind in my face
tie her to my waist as she sucks on my titties.
Ordered us to manhandle you, more fingers than you can count
crawling over you
till you put us to bed.
You are happy, pleased with the performance
pleased with our performance.
You remember, said so yourself…perfect
Like my ass in those leather pants
like your bondaged breasts
like your ass grinding on my cock
the one you grab so freely
making sure that like your
Slave, it’s at attention
for you.
You wanted me to write you a poem
so I right you Mistress
cause this will be the third…
Carve a cross
Across my chest
Or hit me
hit me back to heaven
through ceremonial play
I’ve discovered
the paint in the dark
the touch all that you eat
the blow beautiful notes side of you.
Ain’t no secret that I think you’re hot
I enjoyed just massaging you
unloosening the knots in your calves
warming up your ovaries,
knotting my fingers around your ass
pulling your toes
being spread over you
getting wetter
as imagined what it would feel
to fuck you
to burry my face in between your ass cheeks
and feast on it.
You said it best
“I love our relationship”
you inspire me
to be creative
to be nice
to be positive and loving
to be sensual and sexual
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