Strip me of my rights, my Liberty,
I do not wish to be free.
I need direction, a director, a commander.
I will follow you blind.

Deprive me of my senses,
We both only want to feel.

I want to feel helpless,
Restrained to my knees.
I need to feel pain,
Whipped until crimson.
I hope to feel exploited,
Pushed into ******.
I feel satisfaction,
Permission to hear yours?
Sir.

You are my commander.

I am trained well into compliance.
You reward me in throbs,
Deep pulses from inside.

The motions are familiar but u are entirely different.
You can surprise me, excite me, command me; a formidable leader.
You give me everything,
all that I can feel.
All that I need to feel, alive.

The chains Sir keeps upon me mark me as his slave
in holding me so cruelly he gives me what I crave
wrists and ankles linked with slack enough to walk
collar locked about my neck with Master’s name engraved.
I go about my duties here in dress provocative,
with stockings black, seams so straight, Master does insist
and heels that I must teeter on that lift my head so high;
to please in every way I can and reason here to live.

The silver links make such pretty sound as I move around,
in dusting here and sweeping there as quiet as a mouse
I try not to disturb him much or to displease at all.
to do so might invoke his wrath and earn a beating harsh,
but somehow in each working day some anger I incur
I drop a cup, or bang a door, or fail to clean a stain;
things that engender such a frown, and promises of pain.
Master says I do such things that will worst incur his wrath,
as when the water is in error one degree when I run his bath
or when my tongue fails to clean his boots to glossy shine;
which I know will bring punishment as he decides in time.

My protested innocence of no avail, his retribution certain,
I must fetch an instrument from where he keeps them hid
set to receive such punishment as will befit the crime,
while I’m prostrate upon the cross and wait as I am bid.
Sometimes he ties me in that pose for an hour or two,
to give me some reflecting time to think on what I’ve done
though I think as ornament I am there for such regarding,
ignoring me while he gets on with things he has to do.
But stretched and tied I know full well, I will receive my due,
and bound that way serves only to increase anticipation,
as I test the knots he’s used on me to force my body open.

For Master is my owner now, and can do just what he chooses.
Will I be made to count each stroke, measuring my bruises?
To place them in the neatest lines across my tender flesh
missing those fading from yesterday to give me welts so fresh.
As master tests my neediness by drawing finger wet,
making me to **** myself, acknowledging my heat.
I try to hide my needs from him, I really really do,
but betrayed somehow as my flooding self makes clear.
I tense myself and bite my lip as whipstrokes land quite hard,
but I feel myself rising up to meet each one that falls.

Master has forbidden me to ****** here at all
but oh it is so difficult, like that, not to *** withal.
He knows full well that I cannot resist his falling whip
bringing me to peak each time while I hold myself away.
I’ve been told that if I *** with six more I’ll have to pay;
right now that seems a bargain fair, I need to *** this way.
And so with the next cut I have, I can’t hold myself in check
and shudder as my scream is that of some unearthly being,
the cross itself creaks as if to break as I strain in throes of joy.

Not me, that is not me at all, for I am someone far away,
lost in a sea blazing pain as ecstasy releases what I am.
A rapid six falls across me now, though I am oblivious to it all
I hang and quake upon the cross in ropes that hold me so.
Master leaves me there like that, in ways he knows so well.
Hanging, used, a fractured shell, knowing I’ve been through hell
To reach sweet paradise of pain where I need to suffer more.
E’er long my Master will come to cut me down and I can resume
my duties as his servant girl, unless of course he wants me
for use in other ways that only Master can presume.

From the Francesca Anderssen collection of 101 **** Verses 2017

This book of verse by which I live
as Valentine gift to you I give
the lines across its pages white
express my deep desire each night.

So master read of disciplined need
as I follow my submissive creed.

Each page you turn will tell of me
and the ways I seek your cruelty
there is no pain I will not forebear
imprisoned in your dungeon lair.

This book of prose gives freedom to
do all that you’ve a mind to do.

So at random take each page you see
and create all that’s there for me
as ev’ry suffering there ignites
a passion that your bonds be tight.

So that my consuming fires be lit
this gift of words I do submit.

From the Francesca Anderssen collection of 101 **** Verses 2017

My hands are tied behind my back
you love this helpless look,
my mouth so open wide for you
to take your deepest ******.

Yet my tongue is free to torture still
so you can but suffer of it,
it curls itself around you so
while forcing me to take it.

I look up and watch you writhing wild
and bite so gently harder.
I make your hand twist in my hair
and ****** a little deeper.

Your use of me this perfect way
says that you control me.
But can you stop right now my love?
In that there seems a doubting.

So where does the root of torture lie
with you or with your slave?
For I am here and tied so tight
but you can never leave.

***
From the Francesca Anderssen collection of 101 **** Verses 2017

Most people were conditioned
To think in a certain way.
Some cope with it with submission
Others with rebellion.

All the same
In the end.


-- Eleanor

When I try to move
the ropes upon
my wrists and ankles
bite with sharp reminder
that I am Your slave.

Yet I test them
because my mind
demands I know that
I am owned and worth
nothing unless I am Yours.

My freedom being unwanted
You have left me bound
knowing that Your skill
with ropes will hold me fast
until You return.

Yet still I squirm and fight
Your hellish cords
wanting them to hurt me
in ways that You intended
when You left me bound this way.

**
From the Francesca Anderssen collection of 101 **** Verses 2016

One question remains under the cover of this night
Will I bow down or will I fight?
Submission garuntees a place to stay
But rebellion lets me live my own way

your softly breathing sleep
allows me to muse on times of love
of how you care to devise for me
such pleasures that I know not of

with softly tested link of chain
that holds me to your loving bed
to know that you are there to
shield me with your tender bonds

before slumber claims my eyes
I want to feel your hand in mine
That I may know that you
Lie close by for all our night.

I need to feel the tight confine
Of my captive self that lies within
full knowing that I am
your slave at every sunrise wake

to do your bidding here by morn
and seek your use of me in ways
that have not yet seen light of day
so you shall know me as your own

but dare I risk your wrath by want
of something in this darkest hour,
and think of all you did to me
that brought me to my frenzy here?

my fingers stray and find such wet
as you in passion full create
with desire for you now so intense
that I cannot but divide myself

and guide with care your sleeping hand
where I can ride it in my thrall
and pillow-stifle screams of need
at thoughts of being used again

your touch though sleeping forces me
into that driving ecstasy
that has become my life with you
with no other than this torment wild

that makes me use myself like this
shameless as your wanton *****
needing all you do to me
in ways that you  need me to be