Springtime Rain

Sir's bound to hold your hair in springtime rain
And fuck your pale face until he's done;
He'll fill your cheeks, aware that you remain
Enthralled, not quite as young, but full of cum
And dumb, until you swallow every drop
Of cum and piss and spit that he decrees
You'll take, because he knows you cannot stop
Addiction to the chance that, on your knees
In muddy fields or stony paths; or beds
Of streams that meander, just like your thought,
When sir uses his pet; the blushing reds
Are toned by tingling feelings, that he's taught
You, spring to mind as very simple gain,
With pleasure as your hair's held in the rain.