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Image for the poem It's about power

It's about power

It's about power, you know," he said looking her up and down. "It's about a girl - a girl that can make me feel alive."

"I can do that," she replied boldly.


"Yes sir."

"I can see the vivacity in you - I know you can do it - just let me in babe," he cajoled.

"I think I can feel and sense that."

"Or will I have to act to make it happen?"  

"Ooooooooooh!" She moaned softly.  "I need those sensual feelings."

"I need to use you," he smiled and let the silence wash over her sigh.

"What is alive to you, sir?" She murmured softly.

"Alive is when my girl feels me inside her, and shakes like a leaf. Alive is when she cries in pain, and her tears tell me how much she wants me"

"I think I can do that too sir."

"I am sure will my lovely little pet to be. I promise I will blow your house down and then some, if you know what I mean."

"I think I know."

"Good girl. Tell me then."

"Alive, " she began, "is when you hear my cries in pain strapped to that dark wooden St Andrew's Cross. Alive is when your finger tips brush my eyelids and find the tear lurking that you will mingle with your saliva before you spit down my gullet."

"Alive is the feeling you sense building in me as you pick up the lash and bring it down hard on my exposed flanks, watching the marks burn across my backside and hardening at the effect of your desire to hurt me more than I have ever been hurt before."

He gaped at her.
"Alive," she continued "is the feeling in my breasts when you throw the lash down and stand behind me silent so all I can hear is your breath.  Alive is the wetness in my sex as you brush your finger against it to see if i am ready for use or whether you need to hurt more before you take your pleasure."

"Alive is each tear streaming down my face as you wait for every feeling to exert itself."

Silence ensued

"No?" She whispered quizzically.

"Wow!" He breathed. "Let me soak that in, as I get ready to use you."

"That's what I want," she said, head lowered. "Can you do that, sir?"

"I can tear you apart with a life of ecstasy."



"Will my life be the harsh brutality of your crusading cock in my soon to be ravaged cunt? Will it be your pillage of me?  Will you use me wherever and however you wish?  Will it be the way you use me in front of your wife or your girlfriend?"

"I was born to do that! I was born to bring the wrath of my cock down your entire existence."

"My existence is the humiliating words that rise in your throat. My existence is the way you will sell me for others to fuck when when you have had your fill. My existence is any idea that grows in your head."

"I'm really hard now slut, but not nearly hard enough to punish you right."

"Feel the dampness of my tear stained cheek as you slap me. See the ruddy shade of blood rising on my cheek once you are done."

"I am girl. Lemme hold your head. And guide it, so I can fuck your throat. Let my pre-cum become your saliva."

"Feel the warmth of the bruises on my throat as you squeeze your prick into my tight gullet."

"It is warm. It is so warm, I want to hear it choke."

"It is warm and heated for you, sir; but cold comfort for me."

"You leave me speechless and hard! My ears yearn to hear your cries. Satisfying you was my goal though. I feel defeated emotionally."

"Thank you for trying, sir. Do you comprehend what I want now?"

"You want something that is beyond me."
"Am I just wasting my time, sir?"

"Girl, I only know how to fuck you right.  I'm not up to your standards."

"Seems not," she giggled

"You are too good - an angel"

"You have fun - I hope you find a hole to be filled and fill it well, sir."

"It's not about just a hole; don't insult the idea, dear."

"I meant the hole in your emotional capacities, if you please sir."

He shrugged but knew exactly what she meant.

"Remember sir."

"Remember what?"

"Remember - It's about power."

Written by SweetOblivion
Author's Note
Prose poem - feelings, actions and gender perspectives
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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