by Peter Loaf
A line of fire, the painful sort
Sister Sebastian, the Bishop’s sport
My vow of silence, nunnery court
The Secret Service, the whip’s report
Virgin young sister, the Bride of God
My habit taken, the whippy rod
The bishop’s orders, the dirty sod
His lusty chuckle, my woman’s bod
Crucifix dancing, between my breasts
My ankles shackled, my mettle test
The bishop’s visits, the honored guest
Sacrifice offered, the virgin blessed
Dragged out before him, hands bound before
Stripped to my wimple, wet to my core
Body preparing, knows what’s in store
Pheromones flowing, from every pore
His laughter ringing, the tolling bell
Nipple tips tighten, starting to swell
His nose is twitching, my woman’s smell
His Secret Service, my private Hell
The stake is waiting, hands shackled high
Service beginning, the open sky
My vow of silence, you couldn’t pry
The whippy bippy, I will not cry
The pain amazing, the whippy stick
His eyes are glowing, his targets pick
Stifled reactions, it’s really sick
My shackles rattle, wiggle and kick
Beating so thorough, nipples to knees
Body on fire, caressing tease
My pussy dripping, smelling like cheese
Sister perverted, needing to please
Ankles re-shackled, hanging in splits
The Bishop’s bishop, it never quits
His thrust is busting, my cherry pits
My vow unbroken, sister submits
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