by Peter Loaf
The golden treasures, the massive gems
Tombs of the Inca, banks of the Thames
The deathly silence
The threat of violence
Grave robbing woman, thief without shame
Caught in the temple, crowbar in hand
High priests in waiting, her capture planned
Hogtied and helpless
She’s under distress
Lifted to column, to God remand
The people gather, muttering threats
Gag garbled silence, panties she wets
Blushing and rushing
Pheromones gushing
Passion storm rising, they’re taking bets
Cutting her clothing, stripping her bare
Bound tight and booted, High Priestess’ care
Whole body blushing
Her nipples crushing
Pussy rope dripping, going nowhere
The Priestess fiddles, the thief absorbs
Her nipples harden, her lips engorge
The action stopping
Ready for topping
High Priest appearing, portable forge
Wrist and neck shackles, cutting the rope
Tomb raider finished, no way to cope
Subbie condition
Kow-tow position
Wrist and neck fixing, the death of hope
Ass high and open, the crowd around
The snapping cracker, a deadly sound
Restraints restraining
Raider detaining
The whip comes stinging, her button found
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