A last mirrored glimpse –
vanity appeased –
a vision realized,
the bride of my dreams.
Wholly committed,
adornments in place,
I seek the altar
‘neath a covered face.
Obedience – my pledge –
my will freely giv’n.
My body – his; all
others forsaken.
Tears of my passion
collect on his tongue
whilst the crowd’s rev’rent
sighs, in the air, hung.
Tender flesh made bare
stretched taut doth wait
stings glorious warmth –
the whip ne’er to break.
It’s pain, pleasuring –
crack! – not once but thrice.
“More!” Spectators yell,
echoing my cries.
An explanation?
you ask –
bound by confusion.
What union is this
that celebrates submission?
No diff’rent than yours,
I reply,
that’s but a cage,
origin derived –
a mere property exchange.
We’re not discarding
traditions,
the opposite, in fact.
But like you, we take
the good, setting free the bad.
Blue scarfs bind my wrists,
borrow’d mask hides my face,
even old leather
my breasts doth abrade.
One might say here
is where the similarities end,
but see if just once
a learning begins.
Love knows no boundaries,
needs not circumstance –
a church, a priest, or
the ring on your hand.
This life is for me,
as yours is for you,
don’t worry, you’ll see
I’m far from abused.
Remember my tears
so sweetly erased,
before whips distracted
what all took place?
His mouth – soft, tender –
missed nary a one.
And oh, how it weeped,
my pussy on tongue.
Lesser tears, say you?
Still don’t understand?
There’s more to love than
the exchange of bands.
Traditions of yours,
traditions of mine –
neither’s more valid,
more sacred, divine.
A wedding this is,
despite what you see.
A vow eternal
‘Tween Master and me.