B D S M
Red ropes run like rose vines,
weaving in tight formations,
through the trellis of the bed where
you lie bound.
Wrists and ankles fastened,
spread and writhing
in the ecstacy of that desire
to surrender all.
Black ropes snake over your skin,
like trails of ink
that write the story
of your submission.
Your bound breasts speak volumes;...
weaving in tight formations,
through the trellis of the bed where
you lie bound.
Wrists and ankles fastened,
spread and writhing
in the ecstacy of that desire
to surrender all.
Black ropes snake over your skin,
like trails of ink
that write the story
of your submission.
Your bound breasts speak volumes;...