by Peter Loaf
A dacha in Lipki, the Russian spring
Army truck noises, hand on my thigh
Naked I shiver, head in the bag
Time in suspension, shiver and shake
The motor dying, underground sounds
Hoodwinked and naked, I’m blue with cold
Hoodwink removing, pushed to my knees
The rape-wrack holding, spread out waiting
The man behind me, holding his chin
I do not tell them, at least at first
Finally I’m broken, confession signing .
Fresh from the shower, doing my thing
The doorframe splinters
The soldiers enter
Dragging out hooded, to Moscow bring
Standing suspended, can’t even try
Tickle clit touching
My fingers clutching
Stand and deliver, hood strangled cry
Ball of hard rubber, used as a gag
My hands bound behind
By troopers unkind
Spreader bar ankles, can’t even sag
The soldiers toying, men on the make
One’s pinching my nips
With hard fingertips
No questions asking, to Moscow take
My hoodwink released, my heart it pounds
Questioning session
A forced confession
Mission a failure, taken downtown
Blindly I shuffle, go where I’m told
Passages leading
A sow for breeding
Clanking doors closing, prison enfold
A collar locking, my pussy squeezed
Ankle spread shackles
Brutal ass smackles
The rope removing, my wrists are seized
My pussy dripping, ready dating
Perfect position
Subbie condition
My hidden nature, thin ice skating
Strap of hard leather, a shark’s big grin
“The Spy in the dacha”
“The wiretap gotcha”
“Tell me your story, or we begin”
The turns they’re taking, the female cursed
Three holes no waiting
Garrison mating
The man with the strap, by far the worst
To cell I’m taken, the light shining
Wet dreaming all night
My hot helpless plight
The man with the strap, my soul pining
