Wicked Wench: CONTROL: This poem is about the misconception some people have about S&M relationships. On the surface the submissive is, of course, not the aggressor and does what she or he is told. But on a much deeper psychological level, the submissive is in a much stronger position than the master. To wield a whip takes physical strength but to receive those blows takes a hell of a lot of courage... So who really is the master and who is truly the slave???
About Me
- Wickedwench23
- Delve into the abyss where curiousity and taboo delicacies intersect at fantasy and reality. Expressing oneself in words is denial of the physical realm or a gift from the Gods and Goddesses. The pen is mightier than the sword and a kiss more deadly than a bullet. Sensuality and brutality brought to life through script. "Fear not what is unspeakable but of what remains unspoken"
Monday, August 27, 2012
CONTROL
He says she is the epitomy of true love
When he slaps her ass with his leather glove
He says he dreams about the curve of her hips
She feels the stinging lash on her back from his whip
He lives for her screams of anguish and ecstacy
She's left beaten, sore, ravished but empty
He says her tears bring him incredible joy
She's left on the floor like a discarded broken toy
He says he will cherish her until the day he dies
Her tears a mask of pleasure seen only through his eyes
He cannot breathe without her; for his life would be a waste
She feels absolutely nothing for him until they're face to face
He says she touches him to the very core of his soul
She laughs at this; he is a tool of pleasure and under her control
If her orgasms were brought on without agonizing pain
She would no longer need him and soon forget his name
When he slaps her ass with his leather glove
He says he dreams about the curve of her hips
She feels the stinging lash on her back from his whip
He lives for her screams of anguish and ecstacy
She's left beaten, sore, ravished but empty
He says her tears bring him incredible joy
She's left on the floor like a discarded broken toy
He says he will cherish her until the day he dies
Her tears a mask of pleasure seen only through his eyes
He cannot breathe without her; for his life would be a waste
She feels absolutely nothing for him until they're face to face
He says she touches him to the very core of his soul
She laughs at this; he is a tool of pleasure and under her control
If her orgasms were brought on without agonizing pain
She would no longer need him and soon forget his name
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