The softest rope around my wrists holds them together,
My collar is leather, a ring of metal in front,
He attaches the rope to the hook,
secure, my hands are secure.
He taps my inner thigh,
wider, he says, wider,
and the rope around each ankle is secured.
Bend over, he says,
and i bend at the waist, leaning over the narrow table,
i smell the lube before i feel it,
His fingers push inside me,
pleasure pain i moan
and he pulls out,
fingers replaced with the cool glass plug,
opening me, forcing me to accept it.
Good girl, he says, stepping away.