"French"

          
         
Here she is, racked
wrists and ankles lashed
Each of the four posts
anchor her to the King
             
Black satin blindfold enhances
every touch, fleecy bumps
on downy skin, exposed beyond
black knit, ribbed bustier
French cut lace panties, shaded darker black
Moist
           
Firm fingertips lightly trace
forehead, random path to toes
Petite feet struggle to escape
Dove feather tickles, teases, contrasting
sharp, dinner fork rakes

Pleading, her dripping desire needs penetration
Finger touches veil, command
'Nothing enters until your thighs glisten'

Groans rise, begging holds no sway
Discipline ensues
Cups jerked down, erect nipples salute
His pinch, pulls until she utters the safety cue

Pouting lips met with rigidity
Strong tongue strokes
She attempts to join
'No' He lifts, scent remains

Gaze shifts lower, examines
gleaming inner thighs
Instrument in hand, blade
broadside against her right cheek
Unlikely surprise

Butcher's knife darts from face
to waist, delivers two slices
French cut garment disposed
Weeping groove in His view
'The time is nigh'
From behind her mask, tears
     
Master, laps the salty streams
He smiles as she pants
guttural moans
Lips touch, tongues too
drooling in unison

This exchange
a precursory taste
for her pleas
He grants