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Camilla
Lying here beneath my Mistress on the floor,
I may look up and adore her beauty.
She has one bare foot pressed firmly on my chest,
And I worship the other with my tongue.
She smiles coolly at me, as I search her face
For flickers of pleasure, encouragement
That my service gives measure, and pleases her.
A burst of bright joy, like a shooting star,
Blazes briefly within my chest. The delight
Of moments, when I feel completely hers,
Warms my soul, like home fire in the cold forest,
On a winter's night.
She raises her crop and makes me spread my legs.
My genitals, hers to take, she has bound
Tightly in her restraining yoke of leather
And cold steel. She flicks them nonchalantly
And presses her toes to my lips, demanding
Entrance. I see her smile, and her eyes close,
As I take her wondrous toes into my mouth.
She sighs, and tenses the muscles in her
Thighs as I suck, holding my rapt gaze with hers.
She beats a steady rhythm with her crop
Throughout, and I cry out sometimes at the pain,
But dare not stop my worship for a moment,
For fear of causing Mistress to complain.
To my Mistress Camilla, domination
Comes naturally, like hunting to the lion.
A lovely predator, it is her nature
To command, be obeyed by, and torment
Her adoring boys to her heart's delight.
She opens up for us a world of beauty,
In which we serve, in sweet proximity,
A strong woman who holds us to our duty,
And revels in her femininity.
By Cirrus, dedicated to Camilla
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