Allure

The allure of accessories is strange:  
A belt is buckled; its leather will bind  
The hands together - you can rearrange  
These wrists so close together, I'm inclined  
To ache below the shoulders - as I sit  
Perched on your lap, absorbing your hard prick;
It adds another ache, offset by spit
Applied by you, before you chose to stick  
Your hardened member, where the sun can't shine,  
Until you have enjoyed the ride and spanked,  
So your harsh red hand prints incarnadine  
My derriere; and your relief has thanked  
Dark innards with a spurt that is quite sure  
To feel quite strange, but adds to my allure.