Oh how I love the power, it's so wonderful to trade.
I spend no time with cock in hand. I'm too busy as her maid.
I was attracted to her power, like an insect to the flame.
How I hate it! How I crave it! Groveling in my helpless shame.
I have no say in what comes next, regardless of my mood.
Oh so humbly do I suffer, deeply mired in servitude.
There's beauty in my torment, her whim is my decree.
Oh how I strive to please her. She's the keeper of my key.
I think I gave it willingly, this power to unlock,
this harness that enslaves me, so imprisoning my cock.
I swear I'm not complaining, but I thought it just a game.
I didn't know she'd own me, change me, punish me til tame.
I'm sure that I deserve it, treating women like the pits.
But I'm not begging for my freedom, just parole for a few minutes.
I think one day she'll free me, if I can convince her that
she owns my soul, my future, she controls the ball and bat.
At first I begged and threatened, even said my balls would burst.
She laughed and shook her head and said, "You've earned another month."
So now I eat her daily, for why should she go without?
She's not the one who cheated. Causing pain? Fair turnabout.
Besides, she likes clean toilets, so shiny porcelain abound.
And 'cause I have to sit to pee, the toilet seat's always down.
I'm not allowed erections. My plastic cage always sees to that.
I no longer pant to rubbing flesh, nor feel the gooey splat.
I humbly do the house-work; mop the floors and iron her dainties.
An endless list of nasty tasks, my week's a string of Mondays.
I paint her toes and brush her hair and tongue her fore and aft.
She mustn't lift a finger. She's the Goddess of my shaft.
And should I make an error, which often seems to be my way,
my harsh sentence in the harness seems to lengthen day by day.
Should I in any way not please, or be so bold to sass,
she commands I wear a large black rubber butt-plug up my ass.
So I no longer own myself. I serve as slave and slut.
She says I'm easy to control; just keep my cell door shut.
She loves humiliation, mine, sometimes mixing it with pain.
She determines when I'm naked, wearing panties or a chain.
Teasing me's her passion, as she says it makes her hot.
My frustrations make her climax, her just knowing I cannot.
We're both experts with our brushes, I use mine to clean the john.
Hers she splats against my ass and thighs until I moan.
My Mistress finds it humorous, to put me on display.
Her friends all think it precious, that their word I must obey.
They love to snap their fingers, make me satisfy their whim.
Blush-red is now my color, silent suffering my hymn.
When they command, I show my stuff, except for what's now hidden.
They have the right to make me cry, to serve as I am bidden.
They're not above some tickling, or some teasing of my balls.
They love to watch my cock attempt to squirm against its walls.
My prison's made of plastic, and allows me no respite.
It retains me and restrains me, helps retrain me to live right.
What's right? Only the Mistress knows. I really can't be sure.
She said it has something to do with seeing I stay pure.
Giving her my gonads, and the sperm they used to make...
Submitting to her dominance, succumbing to my fate...
Bowing yielding, persevering, learning to anticipate
her stern commands, her manner, which always humiliate.
Writhing, lusting, as I suffer, paying homage to her twat.
Praying she'll show mercy. She said, "Mercy! What is that?"
This pressure's always building, never quiet, never calm,
If only I could touch it, it'd explode like a time-bomb.
Still I adore her deft control, her power to curtail.
The torment's so delicious. Am I'm addicted to my jail?
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Page last updated 00-Sep-28 by: Altairboy@aol.com