by Peter Loaf
The maid in waiting, serving the Queen
Shackled in irons, the courtyard scene
Wrists to a spreader, two feet between
A winch for stretching, the Queen is mean
Spilling hot gravy, swear I was tripped
Her consort splashing, my wrist was gripped
Day in the courtyard, I would have skipped
Hung up and helpless, my gown was ripped
A wooden paddle, hung on a nail
Stretched spread and naked, my sorry tale
The threat implicit, stretched like a sail
Bottom flesh quivers, a piece of tail
Royal court vultures, watching the show
My every torment, so all will know
Hangman returning, my juices flow
For rape preparing, swelling below
Hands on my boobies, rolling my nips
His phallus thrusting, spreading my hips
Its head emerging, from pussy lips
Helplessly hanging, the nipple clips
Riding his member, dancing a jig
Screaming in panic, the butcher’s pig
His member intrudes, hard hot and big
A lady in waiting, a snapping twig
The Queen in costume, the hangman’s hood
Consort consorting, his phallus wood
The Royal couple, escape I would
Power perverted, tis understood
Dressed in her loincloth, nipples in blush
The Queen approaches, there is no rush
The Hangman yielding, a painful push
High wide and ready, my skewered tush
Clit licking Queenie, suckle and buzz
Ass fucking consort, it’s just because
Orgasm rushing, deep in the fuzz
The deepest pleasure, there ever was
.