Feeding him Bliss

I love it; oh I love it,    
So much, I tell him this:  
I have to. I need to:    
Give, grant, and feed him bliss;  
My face, lost in pillows,    
Brings distance to my voice;  
I praise and it pleases;  
It is my inner choice.  
   
Above me, he crushes;    
And this means that I risk    
Nothing, but empty  
Words; if, then, the hiss  
Of cruelty in whispers,  
Means discipline can't wait;    
A closed book, I remain;    
I will not remonstrate.  
   
Eyes close; imagine  
The cupboards on his wall,    
The bureau; the fine ship,    
He'd sail that's berthed for the fall  
Of this girl, who's anchored,  
Enjoying shafting cock;  
I'd beg more; but quiet,  
Circumspectly, takes stock.  
   
Remember, he tells me  
How you are buggered now;  
This pureness: it's simple:  
A fine thing; he can plough  
Me roughly and deeply;  
Painful, but unremarked;  
Quite spoiled for others,  
I fuck back on his part.    
   
Clocks slow, yet time flies;  
This moment I can't pass;  
He thrusts in; does lust die  
Once he comes in my arse?  
I love it; oh! I love it;    
So much, I tell him this.    
I have to. I need to:    
Give, grant, and feed him bliss.