The Swans feather
The cell door is opened, the rooms suddenly flooded with bright light, your put into a set of handcuffs, the master wants to play this night
Your led to a playroom your hung from from the highest beam, two young girls with sponges, wash your body clean
They put you in a black and red lace basque, small panties, stockings and high heels, you love the underwear on your skin, you like the way it feels
They nod and do a curtesy, they treat you like a Queen, to be chosen is a honour, to be the one picked is such a dream
You hang there for a short while, you hear someone coming through the door, you know it is the master, you've heard his steps before
You point your eyes to the floor, though hung up you stand with grace, you've been with him so many times but you rarely see his face
His hands run down the side of your face, they are calloused and real rough but still he has a tenderness and you can't get enough
After searching every curve, he unwraps you like a prize, he stares at you naked and you almost swear he sighs
You feel the touch of a large feather as it dances across your skin, the top of the quill is quite sharpe as it starts the night of sin
You get a glimpse of it, it's the colour of the purest white, it must of come from a Swan, chosen like you for the play tonight
Skipping across your nipples, it then finds its way down to your sacred place, the soft and sensual feeling, brings a smile onto your face
Around your clit, around your bum, he traces up your spine, it's almost like he's painting you, the feelings so devine
With the Swans feather he makes you cum, he then leaves you hanging there, you have served your masters needs, now it's aftercare
The girls come back in you are washed and set free from the beam, you are lead back to your cell, where once asleep you dream
THE KINKY POET
