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deepundergroundpoetry.com
Heeding the tread
When kneeling with her legs spread, she looks up
And stares into the distance, as the clock
Is ticking out this waiting time; she’d sup
Right now on master’s balls and the hard cock
That he’ll present to her when he arrives;
At least, she hopes he will – in hope, there’s trust
That open thighs and dedicated lives,
(Or the life of this slut) ensure the thrust
Of gagging prick will fill her gullet; soon
The afternoon will fade and winter dusk
Will gather, as she kneels and the bloom
Of hope will fade and thighs will close and life
Will fade back to vanilla – and the dread
Of his arrival vanishes – a wife
Will lay tables – and never heed sir’s tread…
And stares into the distance, as the clock
Is ticking out this waiting time; she’d sup
Right now on master’s balls and the hard cock
That he’ll present to her when he arrives;
At least, she hopes he will – in hope, there’s trust
That open thighs and dedicated lives,
(Or the life of this slut) ensure the thrust
Of gagging prick will fill her gullet; soon
The afternoon will fade and winter dusk
Will gather, as she kneels and the bloom
Of hope will fade and thighs will close and life
Will fade back to vanilla – and the dread
Of his arrival vanishes – a wife
Will lay tables – and never heed sir’s tread…
Published 14th Feb 2016
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