- Erotic Poetry
- Sonnet in Corset Black
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I'm laced so tight my breath can barely stir,
my womb constricted to a narrow core.
Unyielding as this man I must call "Sir,"
black leather binds the skin of his black whore.
Black thigh high fishnets cling to my long stems,
his fingers trace the corset's patterned skin;
my flower, pink and pretty, bare for him,
he lies back, I mount him, and we begin.
He's long and thick and painful anyway;
the corset's bitter grip makes it much worse.
The blessing of his cash, I need today,
but his hard use of me is my life's curse.
I struggle just to breathe as we engage;
his hands caress my skintight leather cage.
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