Bad Little French Girl

Ok French girl with your straight dark hair and your pixie smile

You walked with me, and I liked it, cause you were tough and hard and small and soft

And you sang lovely songs through surrogates that made me stop and ache

And you cringed and waited for me to beat you because you had been bad

Not to me but when you sold yourself for cigarettes and your mother cried.

I offered deliverance, and when you saw that, you laughed and stood up and

Maybe at first, a hesitant glance, but then mocked and laughed again and felt contempt at my soft belly

Round and round, I chased your laugh which was often hidden under dark clouds. I was home and you ate with me and built a chamber for me, and not you.

I should have withdrawn, but I let you play with my psyche while I stroked your hair which spoke to me saying: “Why don’t you yank it and draw me to your knees?” I deprived you of the humility and you fumed.

When I dismounted from my steed, a knight in shining armor, you should have been my foot stool, for then you would have admired me, but you had run away.

Whispers….Rest here. I will go and prowl for prey, to lash with my claws. I am the French girl, hear my howl. I will take the haughty and use my mind, my high heeled soles to crush them as I would have had you do me. I will snuff out their glow as a cigarette on my sole, if only the buzz lasted more than the moment. But it doesn’t.

I love you! Until you love me back and then I own you, you dependent sot and I will spit in your mouth and drag you naked through the mall while I try on shoes, and you will thank me. Thank me as a mother, thank me as a lover. Suck my clit woman, if only for the thrill. And I don’t care. I don’t want to care. No No No No….but I do and my bound, my mine..if you leave me..if you, my child, leave me, I am alone again. A mother deserted, and I won’t talk to you, though I yearn to, and you will not have peace and I, I will be broken.

Wait, I hear another’s howl in the wind. I will run away because I fear that love. I am not bound. I am not his. I am not as I have never been..never, even for those who rescued me, never..and yet..where am I? why is this room so quiet. He loves me , he loves me not. I pluck my daisy and I wait to be stripped naked and whipped and kissed alternately as my wheals raise, whipped and kissed.

Yes I will do that as I lay you down in bed. And slide my cock into you and tell you that you have been a bad french girl with straight dark hair. Tell me your name again ?