My beautiful boyo.
Hold your hands right there.
Keep your eyes closed.
Hold still as I run this across your skin.
Shhhh... hold it all in.
No sound.
Feel everything I enjoy doing to you.
Mine.
Your face screws into weird shapes for minutes while you try to hold all the reactions in because I've told you to.
I love the struggle in your face.
No words, but you can use your voice now.
I love the abandoned sounds that rip from your throat.
Each time it is it's different and the same.
What I do to you is different.
Collar or no collar.
Knife or ice.
Orders to obey or sensations to endure.
Silent blindness or vocal sight.
The love and the pride and the honor at your willingness to be my boyo is the same.
And when I allow you to speak, and given an order, your answer is always the same.
"Yes, my Queen."
7 comments:
Nice!
I don't know you that well, Jaenelle, but this entry seems to show you in your most pure, essential form.
I can just visualize you eyeing your "boyo" with that incredibly sexy glare that you display in your photo. You are so hot . . .
Boyo knows what is very good for him. Its no wonder he behaves as the rewards are in the promise. I like the pure writing style you have.
Nicely written, love.
And to Cherrie and Woody: let's just say it's well worth it. *cackle*
nice poem, i liked the flow, and the sensual images. lucky boyo.
Yes, My Queen, I could be down with that.
Thank you everyone... from the hot and sexy types of comments and the style comments.
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