by Peter Loaf
Guardian “uncle,” father figure
He’s nearly sixty, man of vigor
I’m eighteen today
His subbie to play
First day of freedom, my Master rigger
Long known His fetish, his bondage bent
Porno collection, hid in a vent
Stink finger sessions
Learning my lessons
Tall and hard bodied, masculine scent
No blood relation, my “uncle” Tom
Self bondage tying, thought he was gone
I’d just turned fifteen
My fingers between
Caught me red handed, his CD/rom
Smiling and sighing, he turned his back
“I see you found it, my little sack”
I started to plead
“Oh daddy I need!”
“Please spank me daddy, just need a whack!”
He turned to face me, his purple lips
His stuff retrieving, coming to grips
“You cannot consent”
“And I’m not that bent”
“Until you’re eighteen, no further trips!”
First day of freedom, three years dreaming
Wanting to fuck him, three years scheming
My presents opened
Just what I hopened
Slave collar shackles, his eyes gleaming
Stripped to my tennies, collared and cuffed
Virgin young subbie, need to get stuffed
Leather pants creaking
Approval seeking
Pain/passion/pleasure, needing it roughed
The butt hook hidden, bulbous tip
To wrists connected, an iron grip
Subbie submitting
It’s only fitting
To woods He’s leading, his secret crypt
Cave by the river, deep underground
To floor ring tethered, I’m closely bound
The butt hook lifting
Subbie space drifting
Ankle ropes spreading, freedom new found
Bent and presented, swollen and hot
My birthday party, taking my shot
His cane comes swishing
Punishment dishing
Bottom cheeks slicing, twist in the plot
Orgasm threatens, screaming in lust
His zipper opened, smelling His musth
Cocksucker virgin
I need no urging
His scent demanding, suck it I must
High hard and ready, swallow it down
The fire in my ass, stripy and round
My pussy dripping
My clitty clipping
My pussy thrusting, nirvana found
After it’s over, taken to bed
Rings at the corners, ring at the head
Spread eagle stretching
Face down and fetching
The butt hook removed, butt fucked instead
“Uncle” Tom’s member, hard as a rock
Plowing my furrow, rolling we rock
Orgasms crashing
Bottom cheeks slashing
Freedom fulfilling, the snapping lock
Guardian Master, no longer ward
My fruit he’s picking. my apple cored
My needs He’s filling
His victim willing
Uncle Tom Master, his meaty sword
