~¤~Late Night Fingers~¤~

A hand moves. Touching

Under the sheets in darkness,

..............

This page was added February 2002

Fantasy is the only truth.  

Abbie Hoffman.  

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~¤~Going Home~¤~

Other Lurid Verses

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Fantasy in one's real life is so often the life that one does not lead -  Oscar Wilde

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~¤~Index~¤~

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Where little spasms pass...Your body clutching

From "Late Night Fingers"

Warning:  These verses include explicit innuendo that may offend the more sensitive (or prurient).  This page is age/content rated under Safe Surf.*

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	Acting The Tart	Behold the Entry	Bitter Sweet?
	Bonding In A Fog	Bring Back Calm	Collared From Afar
	Dancing Around	Her Prize	Late Night Fingers
	Rejoice	Remembered Needs	She Draws In Breath
	Submissive Valentine	The Truth	This Coming Year
	Trip to Mastery?	Unexpect	Enough/More

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Click the late night lady to return to the index

~¤~Late Night Fingers~¤~

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A hand moves. Touching

Under the sheets in darkness,

Where little spasms pass

Your body clutching

The late night's obscure blackness -

Nerves like cut glass.

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Hand over your face.

A feeling between your legs,

Becoming much damper.

Clocks tick. Fingers chase.

A longing, nestling warmth begs

Where digits scamper.

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Breathing harshly now,

Laborious and perspiring

Glistening in the heat.

Thumbs poised to slough,

In crevices requiring

Entry indiscreet.

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It has begun to rain.

Wet as the channels you ream

Dripping like your tears

Again and again,

Bejuiced and sluicing cream

Alleviate your fears.

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You lie somnolent,

A vapid, gluttinous state

The pleasure lingers.

Dreaming a moment.

Recollections that spell:

Late night lady's fingers.

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Click the late night lady to return to the index

~¤~Bitter Sweet?~¤~

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The mind travels wistful, back into past times,

Yet the body responds to the present,

Erotic mystique once superbly defined -

On second thoughts is just evanescent.

Now is the instant to reveal your figure,

Bent over pillows to pander so lewd

Enjoy each device - delight in the vigour -

Proffering crevices, puckered up for abuse.

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Piled up high, your soft belly seems cushioned,

Your fingers know not what to do with themselves

Forgotten dissuasion? Then wait for the motion -

Tight rhythmic stroking, an insistent delve

Of snaking tongues as you are taken,

Again and again in your riotous mind,

Remember, forever, beliefs can be shaken

Since cosseting verse hardly serves to remind.

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Now is the instant to crawl on those knees,

Bent over pillows, you'll steal the show,

By wailing and crying spontaneous pleas,

Contrivance so clear will not soften the blow.

Yet, these are falsehoods - sharing complicity,

These are the threads that weave in and out

We, who imagined a magnificent tapestry,

Are devoured, moth eaten, by bitter sweet doubt.

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~¤~Remembered Needs~¤~

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What will we never forget, dear girl -

That whip hanging up by the door?

Is it the palm or the brush that will whirl,

When you're naked and asking for more?

Is it your arse or your flanks that endear,

As they pinken, blush red to the beat?

Or is it the way you raise your rear,

That make all your spankings a treat?

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Is it the way you spread your legs,

And open your puss to abuse?

Is it the way you obediently beg

Your Master, with moans so abstruse?

Is it the wink of that eager pucker

Dry, dark and warm inside?

Is that cunt dripping hot butter

Or the wench who won't be denied?

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Chastised and taken, you naughty child,

Buggered and fucked and bejuiced,

You may be tight when you are defiled

But your morals are perfectly loose.

Surrender yourself, my lovely creature,

Ensure there are no regrets,

Remember these needs, Master will teach you,

These needs we will never forget.

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~¤~Acting The Tart ~¤~

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His creature, one day, had an excess of guile,

Thinking to tease in her own Master's style,

With practiced hand, walnut juice on her face,

Disguised as a harlot, she tempered her grace.

Sitting in the dark corner of an obscure inn,

She spied on her Master well aled within,

"Come to my rooms," she whispered, " kind Sir,

I've something to offer: I'm here to serve."

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His head was a swirl, his tongue was loose,

He couldn't refuse this so gorgeous goose.

He plucked her and tupped her. He did not undress,

"Gold ducats, kind sir" came the murmured redress.

When she had taken that bulging gold purse,

She knelt there to slake his residual thirst

"Kind sir, you've had my vermillion, so see,"

She hissed: "Come indulge in a tighter entry?"

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She lay her shoulders on the feather down,

Slid her hands behind her and offered her brown

Hole to the gentleman, and, as she divined,

He was most overkeen to taste her slick behind.

"I'll have at you, girl," he moaned as she rasped,

Penetrating the depths of that proffered pass;

"Have me," she lisped, "right to the hilt, Sir,

(As I will soon have your fat purse of silver)."

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Though she pressed on, he still held back,

He would not come in her darker crack,

She mouthed: "Come fill up my mouth with your juice,

Don't spurt your flood up this place of abuse."

"A warmer, wet freshness is within your reach,

For your dirty pride - all I want is that leash."

A leash of worn leather that scarce impressed

Matching her collar 'neath dishevelled dress.

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She held up the leash in her dark, dyed hands,

Slowly licked her lips to tempt a new stand.

"That leash is a token of a tie I can't break,

"If that is your price then the mouth I'll forsake."

Being tenderhearted: a well acting wh@re,

She sucked satisfaction not asking for more.

She watched him slide in an undisturbed dream

Slipping away having licked him quite clean.

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The very next morning in the fountain court,

She asked after his travels as she had been taught

Oh, he spied his purses hanging off of her belt,

It made him flush like a freshly whipped welt.

"Oh, what makes you blush at the purses I took?

You had my body though you did not quite look

For the collar that matched your leather leash

You passed the test: I remain in your keep.

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"That leash has held me as this collar restrained,

It was well, despite tempting, that you retained,

Your sperm tastes good to pets and also to tarts,

Surely my teasing's worth a good spank at last?"

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~¤~Behold The Entry~¤~

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Behold the subbie's round backside:

Warm flesh atones as he remains;

Fingers in that polestar divide

Mapping the pet that he restrains.

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The blush so crimson, the flanks so red,

Burned by the sting of Master's palm;

She lies so still upon this bed

And bubbles joyfully - so calm.

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She lies wanton, creature fey,

A digit pressed within her rear,

Master desires and she'll obey,

Knowing oblivion draws near.

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Each keen plump cheek glows bright;

His palm and cane didn't tear skin;

She ululates her sheer delight,

Bent and ready for entering.

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He, with an easy hunger,

Takes His hardening and puissant pole;

Spreads her ripeness without debate,

Against the crevice and in the hole.

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~¤~ A Trip To Mastery?~¤~

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Mastery's trip never relents -

It could be you he'd own -

Feelings intense -

There's no pretence -

Control quite fully blown;

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You kneel there planning a ruse -

To top from under him -

Beg for his use -

Request abuse -

Your wishes are his whim;

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His D, your s together bind -

Collared and leashed you're free -

You wear his sign,

When he's inclined -

Trip to his Mastery.

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~¤~Dancing Around A Mind~¤~

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The pet who comes to dance around a mind,

Ensures thoughts are abandoned with a wrench,

You'd serve this chit so roughly now, in kind

Pulling her to a wooden spanking bench.

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Wriggles entice, yet they can debauch

Ideas celestial, rich as noble wine,

The teasing - a contrivance that can torch -

Earthy views into a pensive mien.

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She should be treated harshly - wench so lewd,

Naked before her Owner, spread and bent;

The thrill of being used with abrupt rudeness

Leaves the naughty slut quietly content.

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Taken like a slattern, kneeling and contrite,

Craving your passion - an honour she'll requite.

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~¤~Her Prize~¤~

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Her prize belongs to Master, who has used,

His brush and palm to bring his pet to task,

Her squeals tell how well she is imbued,

With joy, as in her anguish, there she basks.

Owned she is, and never on her own:

A choice permitted to be his only choice:

Atone - the slicing whip brings out a tone:

A sigh of thanks, a faintly echoing voice.

Will thanks for use derive new use for thanks?

Her thanks are his, as is the hardening flesh;

His gratitude will sting across her flanks,

As whip and brush and palm merge and caress.

She sighs, unbuttons Master, inspects his size,

Revelation to her mouth, she well conceals her prize.

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~¤~Submissive Valentine~¤~

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Dear pet, you knelt before him at this hour,

Smiling on that cushion, as morn grew old;

And come noon, it seemed you became bold,

In this close room, craving a warming shower.

So, in the like name of that control and power

He takes back all apologies you would unfold,

Laying across that lap, do as you're told,

And give your thanks. A spanking will not sour,

He'll warm your flanks lest ever they grow cold,

Yet hold chastisement; for here's a whip instead,

Here's a brush! -- take them and then recline

There is no rush. Keep them as passion's fed.

Instruct parted thighs to blush a beauteous red,

As you would be your Master's valentine.

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