The Cropping
by Peter Loaf

Expert manhandled, blinded by tape
Taken to cellar, awaiting rape
Kow-Tow positioned
Rope art commissioned
The Lairdís retainers, never escape

Ass up presented, my legs are split
Prickle itch sisal, shuddering fit
Each tiny wiggle
Canít even jiggle
My Master coming, pinching my clit

Three buzzing spiders, needle-tooth bite
Two on my nipples, my pain filled night
Hot body sweating
Horny Iím getting
Pussy lips dripping, Friday-nite tight

A harem of virgins, separate cells
Each day another, under hemp spells
The cropís caresses
The slave confesses
Shudder-cum-wiggle, ringing His bells

Iíve never seen him, kept in the dark
A man impotent, mind of a shark
His only pleasure
In fullest measure
His sex slave serving, making His mark

My passion growing, my sex burning
Maiden head checking, stomach churning
Two fingers prodding
Screaming through wadding
His slave is begging, His boon earning

His footsteps circle, the lights are hot
The bondage holding, girl on the spot
The crop comes singing
My bottom stinging
My passion surging, my boiling pot

Left in position, taking a nap
Tied down exhausted, girl in a trap
At dawn returning
My freedom earning
His pecker perky, ready to scrap

My body burning, the sisal itch
Maidenhead ripping, bleeding His bitch
My numbness crumbles
Orgasm tumbles
His smooth hard member, isnít it rich

An heir is needed, title and land
Pervert desires, making demand
His big cock reborn
Hard as a horn
My egg in waiting, carefully planned

The bloodline royal, my son a king
Kingís mum promoted, the apron string
Timing my capture
My subbie rapture
Sex slave to Royal, treasure to bring