Get Up

“Get up, sweet bitch,” his gentle voice denies
You any chance to object to his tone;
“Get up, you fucking whore,” each word supplies
A whip-like snap in your mind; “Do not moan,”
He adds and grasps your shoulder tenderly,
“It’s time to cleanse your cunt of all the cum
That I have sleeked your hole with; do not be
Too disappointed that your tight young bum
Was not filled up as well; there will be time
To rectify this fault, once I’ve impressed
You with sound beatings, you will not decline;”
The perfumed underwear will pool unstressed
Around your ankles, as no single stitch
Of your get up will impede him; “sweet, bitch”.