by Peter Loaf
Four legged spider, holding within
Anal ring gripping, a bowling pin
Tippi-toes lifting
My weight I’m shifting
The captive complete, the games begin
Vibrating thingy, clipped to my clit
The pain amazing, wish I could shit
Nipple clips matching
A plot he’s hatching
Camera crew circles, and here I sit
My rigger chuckles, spider to fly
Balanced on phalanx, tough to deny
A chain hoist rattle
Losing my battle
Pussy juice squirting, suspended tie
Bladder and colon, swinging above
His rough hands smacking, pushing they shove
Tracks in the ceiling
The squeaky wheeling
Slaughter house rustic, the scene I love
The crowd applauding, hole in the floor
My bottom hanging, wet to my core
Japanese party
Ceiling show arty
Black magic woman, screaming for more
