Once bitten...

A hundred bugs are biting her pale flesh,
Their meal illuminated by the flash
Of lightning in the distance; her lips mesh
Against her master’s; each thunderous crash
Will mean she’ll hug him tighter, in the hope
That he can calm the storm within her breast
And still her pounding heart; she cannot cope
With all of these emotions; she has dressed
Herself in finery; let him remove
Each layer, as the streams of falling rain
Impose themselves; and let the young wench prove
How damp she is: wet through, as she'll remain,
Until she’s served him, floored upon thick rugs,
Where he will bite her more than lightning bugs…