by Peter Loaf
Waterfront alley, a tavern whore
My collar and box, the money for
My Master in shock
No money I got
Built for a fucking, there should be more
Nothing to show for, been out all night
His big belt loosened, holding me tight
Bent and presenting
My pimp inventing
Heavy strap smacking, all of his might
Double sun rising, taken to cell
“Only one dollar, so what the hell?”
My arms he’s binding
Subbie space finding
My bottom crimson, try not to yell
“Ten times they paid me, I heard the clanks!”
“And how can I know, they’re dropping blanks?”
He chuckles and strips
I’m coming to grips
His organ swollen, my bottom spanks
My arms in bondage, my legs enfold
I feel his presence, his eyes they hold
Hoodwink and gagging
His fuck slave bagging
High hot and dripping, out of the cold
He knows my buttons, what gets me hot
Services rendered, tied in a knot
My strong female scent
My Master so bent
Long after hours, taking my shot
Good living making, despite the slugs
My Master and me, my shapely jugs
Money invested
Slot slut molested
Services selling, importing drugs
