XVI

A shape in the dark writhes across the surface of concrete and dirt.
The body of dread, lashed and swollen, weeps from fettered pores into the stained ground.
 Constricted, flogged, adorned on a summit of pearl and cruelty,
worshipped with the kiss of scourge.
Her power is commanded by the falling hand of depravity,
the fluid gathered in a pool around her delicacy.
The thin wrists held rigid, a soft fist gripping the whip of severity.
Her domination transmuted into the command of gnashed teeth,
the command of saliva and blood to be delivered to her thighs,
the command of a body left destroyed for her virtue, for her pleasure.

I want you to beg to me.
I want you to plead at my feet.
I want you to plead for mercy.
Beg for me.