Have you learned them, all fourteen?
Let's find out. He smiles and your heart races.
You did learn them, all fourteen, and,
in the silent seconds that follow,
the most common ones race through
your mind. Nadu. Table. Sex doll.
You work to keep the wince from your face.
Please not that one. Roadkill. Lying inert,
staring up at nothing, a vessel to be used.
About as sexy as a store mannequin.
Modest kneel, he whispers, and you drop.
On your knees, thighs wide, hands placed
strategically to maintain your modesty.
Eyes straight ahead. Resist the urge to look,
see if he's impressed. He won't be,
not that easily. Collar me, he tells you.
You keep your thighs where they are, lift
your arms and place them behind your head.
Keep your chin up, accessible. Very good.
You smile at that because… praise. Now,
humble. Fold forward, hands out in front,
ass in the air and everything on display.
You hold, wait. A quiet tut fills your ears,
a hand pushes between your shoulders.
Lower, lower still, until your face is pressed
to the carpet, bristles scratching your cheeks.
Better. The hand strokes down the length
of your back. You stay, waiting for the next
touch, or the next command. Inspection.
Up. Quickly. The need to show you know
beating over the desire to be graceful.
Legs apart, hands up behind your head.
Back arched. Tits out. Chin up. Eyes front.
Your favorite. His favorite, too. He comes
up behind you, heat all down your back.
One hand cups your throat, pulls you back,
harder into him. The fingers tighten
until you feel the whisper of fear. Whimper.
Feel a warm breath of air against your ear
as he laughs silently. His second hand
sneaks up and cups your breast, pinches
a nipple. Hard. Harder. Until you want
to lift up on your toes away from the sting
of it, but there's nowhere to go. You moan,
he pushes you forward onto the bed.
Barks out, crawl. You scurry across the bed,
into the center to wait. A peek back
shows he's unbuttoning His jeans.
Guess you passed…