Author Information
Bound
The rope bites into the
Soft and tender flesh
my breasts are bound
Tight, individually
But together
They throb and pulse
As the blood barely
Gets to them
His slightest touch
Like fire as the nerves
Starve for affection and blood
my breasts ache
As they turn purple
i am bound not for mine
But for His pleasure
You already know my feelings about this poem (or you can correctly presume them from our previous conversations), but I think you should write a sequel to this poem---showing the unbinding.
Starward