Oh weep you naked flesh
the shackled wrists so hung
the frail neck bent - the pale blond tresses flung
across one shoulder
her tender skin takes fresh
the blows on blows he lands
in blooming stripes with rhythmic slight of hands
on her sparkling back
he pauses to caress
her sweetly rounded breast
a murmured kiss to favor her request
for a new torment
immaculate distress
lies graceful on her hip
surrendered eyes yield beauty to the whip
her sigh a milky breath
and we must do no less
than suffer too and yearn
therefore my love it is now our turn
to play this splendid game
Originally Published July 2006: Stripped! Anniversary Issue