Sunday, October 16, 2016

Fruition (Sonnet XVI)

The time has come, my dear, for us to play
A game I have been planning quite some time.
Since first we met I've waited for this day
And schemed as if toward some awful crime.

And, true, a crime I mean to here commit,
For I intend to steal your very breath
And leave you shaken, quivering in a fit
Of bliss known by the French as "Little Death"

We shall begin the night by lacing knots
To keep you still and steady for my hands.
And when you feel the urge to venture thoughts,
I shall replace them with my own commands.

And when I've taken of you what I will
I'll watch you, bound and writhing, begging still.

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