by Peter Loaf

A picnic party, deep in a wood
The picnic basket, holding no food
Evil inventions
Evil intentions
Fleeing in panic, doing no good

Run down and tackled, hands bound behind
Rope on my elbows, purpose unkind
My clothes heís ripping
Heís power tripping
Eyes black and glowing, titties to bind

I try to reason, Iím puka gagged
Black velvet pulling, my head is bagged
Blinded and helpless
Itís time I confess
Subbie slut loving, to woods Iím dragged

A stinging pinching, an instant pain
My nipple piercings, time and again
A swish and a smack
Tied boobies attack
Bad-mitten racquet, my nipple pin

Blindly Iím driven, His Mountain Top
His racquet smacking, I cannot stop
Stumble and falling
My nature calling
Sub in Nirvana, needing to pop

Frigid cocksucker, otherwise dyke
Topping from bottom, tortures I like
My pussy fondle
My clitty bobble
Trusting my topper, my good friend Mike

His fingers twiddle, my swelling lips
He bends to suckle, my burning nips
A dildo sliding
A sapling riding
On tiptoes tripping, my wrists he grips

Tippy toe dancing, dildo in deep
My wrists heís lifting, a noose to keep
Toe leashes tying
On broomstick flying
The hood removing, selling me cheap

Moll Flanders filming, plus fifty more
Premium payers, watching me whore
The witch delivered
Pussy lips slivered
Put to the question, the distant shore

Bad-mitten racquet, titties aflame
Subbie space driven, my public shame
My bottom spanking
On tethers yanking
Witch on her broomstick, point match and game