Odinsfire
Posts: 8
Joined: 8/26/2012
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This is a reworked poem from one I wrote a long time ago, I hope you like it.
THE MISTRESS
There were racks of floggers, and quivers of canes, but there was nothing bland, and nothing plain.
There were whips on the wall ready to do their work, each slave knowing that those implements hurt.
There were shining cuffs with bonds of leather, near them the ropes for tying limbs together.
Straps and harnesses were there to be used, all held the slaves, when they were abused.
A slave was standing facing the wall, he was waiting in fear of his Mistress’s call.
He was looking around with only his eyes, he was getting a thrashing for telling her lies.
Her punishment was brutal, and her temper was fast, the slave was wondering if he would last.
Then hearing her footsteps coming down the stairs, where other slaves were standing in pairs.
The sound of the door opening then closed with a slam, the slave started to tremble, mouth closed tight like a clam.
His breathing was heavy and his heart beating loud, he cried out for mercy in front of the crowd.
His shouts were dismissed as they fell on deaf ears; there was none in her heart as she showed him her sneer.
He was standing alone his mind drifting away, thinking of the pain that was coming his way.
The slaves that were standing watched the Mistress walk by, not one dared to look her straight her in the eye.
Their eyes were fixed firmly facing down to the ground, no one dared move until the Mistress turned around.
She shouted out loud, “Lift your heads up and see; how I punish a slave for lying to me.”
“His back will be bloody and ripped to a shred, after twenty strokes of my cat he will wish he were dead.”
She went to the wall and took down the whip, carrying it back, held low, by her hip.
There was no expression, on the Mistresses face, as she gave him five lashes, hard, and with pace.
His screams could be heard above the sound of the whip, and when she stopped for a break, his blood started to drip.
The slaves were in fear that the young man would die, and some of them now had tears in their eyes.
The slaves counted five strokes, his back was red raw, they cringed at his screams as she gave him five more.
The face of the Mistress was twisted and mean, like the face of a gargoyle and the worst ever seen.
She served the last five on the cheeks of his ass, his flesh ripped to pieces as if cut with some glass.
She turned to the others and said with a sneer, “Don’t tell me lies or you’ll all end up here.”
The Mistress sits supreme in her domain you’ll learn, and if you mess with her power, it’s your back that burns.
So give her respect and tell her no lies, or just like the slave you’ll have tears in your eyes.
Be well.
_____________________________
Woman--Hers is the conflict--Hers is the conquest--Hers is the flag of life unfurl'd--Hers is the sorrow--Hers is the suffering--Hers is the love that rules the world.
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The Mistress - 
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