by Peter Loaf
My Beamer parking, behind the barn
The house deserted, a gothic yarn
The floorboards creaking
A Master seeking
The Pro from Dover, His money earn
“Come to the attic,” card on the door
I climb the ladder, knowing the score
His site on the net
I’m already wet
Bondage contraptions, the furthest shore
My Master’s attic, quiet as tomb
A post stands sturdy, my place of doom
Hands bound by shackles
Fixed back to backles
Clamped to the stanchion, center of room
Bent like a pretzel, then double gagged
The bad news giving, my ransom snagged
My hubby coming
Thin nasal humming
My Master outing, trophy wife bagged
Someone is coming, in the front door
High wide and hurting, cum dripping whore
Gag garbled screaming
Subbie lust creaming
Trapped in the attic, rescue implore
Attic space quiet, soundproofing thick
Naked and waiting, can’t even kick
A pretzel bending
There’s no defending
Hubby discovers, Master’s mean trick
Upper crust hubby, born on the top
Mission position, don’t make me pop
Subbie lust lover
Don’t blow my cover
Sore boobies welting, bite of the crop
Hired a Master, my secret needs
My hubby’s helper, my kink He feeds
Business trip taking
Everything staking
Master my Master, my needs exceeds
The attic quiet, I hear the latch
The lights are blinding, my oozing snatch
Hubby’s head climbing
Passion pose priming
My secret outing, the act to catch
His shock is total, his trophy bride?
Hung up and tortured, a whip applied
My gag removing
Things not improving
A ring gag wearing, ready to ride
“How could this happen?” his mocking plea
I try to explain, he hushes me
“I knew all along”
“Right where you belong”
“Subbie lust object, Simon Legree”
His prick is shining, the ring provides
My tonsils fucking, heaving insides
Pausing to tighten
Sensations heighten
Subbie space rushing, big pecker glides
Gasping I gargle, air blocking girth
Gasper sex struggles, for all I’m worth
Hubby and Master
Cracking the plaster
Double teamed subbie, in pretzel berth
