They At Play
The single tale slivers twisting towards its target, its tongue tearing.
Before licking soft flesh. The scream is more pleasure than pain.
A red raw welt joined the others.
Hands grip the top of crossed wood in expectation
but what is felt is the gentle sharp sting of a pin wheel.
As it slides with artistic precision, around erogenous zones.
Dopamine levels rise sending them both into trance.
This is their meditation.
From pinwheels to ball handle floggers.
Hands dance rhythmically painting patterned marks.
The unexpected change incites flight.
Hands undo shackles.
A body is carried, to a soft safe bed.
Bound with silk rope.
Hands stroke inner thighs as a clamps are attached to nipples.
A passionate kiss.
The expectant orgasm denied as lips cease to kiss.
They move together bound by trust.
Into the abyss
of climax.