From the outside looking in, it's hard
to understand the pleasure that's found
in kneeling on a hard floor, just because
He wants you to. In presenting yourself
for strikes that will raise welts on your skin,
send air hissing through your lips. Opening
your mouth for a gag that will cut at
your cheeks, leave you helpless to the drool
that slides down your chin. It's difficult
to explain the draw of ropes that pull
at your shoulders and leave you prone
on the bed, at the mercy of his whim.
The posture collar that holds your head
at a painful angle, the mouth that opens
for the cock that's going to choke you
until you gasp and splutter. Until you cry.
Who can fathom why you tie yourself
into the corset that cuts at your ribs
when your bent over, face pressed into
the bed covers by the hand on your head.
You walk into battle and surrender, you
let him lay siege to your body and mind.
And then, afterwards, you smile, and you
kiss him, and you say thank you. Masochist.