What If

The first time I see you on the screen
you are dominating her, some twisted
yet familiar place whose terrain I've never
quite known. The curiosity in me, the fever
to be the one whose face you bathe with

your tongue, whom you pull a neck belt
harder at. Sweet-thick brown leather
dick-hard daddy-beating belt. My fear of you
spanking me hard and inexorably as my
stepfather did, the trembling of my little ass,

the fear I would love it with the likes of you. Once
a boy I talked to on the phone taking me down
that path, not a word of sex but insulting me
like the males in my life did and I'm on the red
chaise open and offering myself to the world,

everything I can get around me inside me.
Your hands at my neck, yes, so wrongly right,
but it should be you who holds my life in your
hands. That boy saying he'd leave me tied up
for days, oh the horror of it, but with you the

craving to leave me with this want eating away
at me, what is left of my flesh and mind that
haven't been ravished by sick obsession. Besides,
all I do with my time is wait for you anyways. The
other boy who terrified with talk of blood play

and candle wax and now with you I understand,
it's all so very clear, the red room you would own,
the props, taking one of them against my skin and
the sting and bloom combined with the sweet aching
absence of your cock and hands and the juice

running down my thigh, your voice with its commands
and each sweet sibilant syllable and my cunt calling
and echoing for you, please. Please. Fuck me now
but make me wait like this forever.