Tempestuous

Tempestuous, yet lovely sterns delight
Your eye, or so it seems; each time you glance
At mine I feel a fire in you ignite:
It burns me like your touch; you make me dance
Across your desk, your lap or on your bed
Where you bind me spreadeagled and you take
Your pleasure with a flogger; you're more wed
To me with every red mark that you make
Upon my livid rear, before you thrust
Into the heated centres of desire;
There is no halfway house; i don't adjust
My hopes or expectations, as you wire
My needs to yours and your dark genius:
It's lovely, stern and so tempestuous.