Poetry – Peach Berman's Hot Literary

CONTENT WARNING: Sexually explicit content. BDSM and bondage, may be unsuitable to some readers. 18+ only.

He leans, resting his forehead 
into mine. He is unable 
to slap me; force abandons 
his hand until he’s cradling 
my face in one palm. 
His calculating look 
softens into feeling
and his words 
grow simple– 
“You’re a good girl,” and 
“I’m lucky.”


I drop under. 
In the third hotel 
I hit a threshold dose. 
It isn’t sex 
that does it, not exactly, 
but once I cum for him, 
hog-tied with his cock 
soft in my mouth 
he lifts my chin, 
he takes my gaze, 
he asks me what 
just happened. He tells me, 
in an instant, I have changed.

Thank you to Wayne Crest for the photo and the inspiration. ❤️

Over and over he brings me to the edge of the bed, those penetrating eyes, that penetrating hand drills into me until the pressure mounts and builds. I ask, “Are you into squirting?” and his eyes spin wild, “Only one way to find out.” His answer holds a supplication and an offer. They tumble from his mouth. I catch them both, and I deny them, holding water back. I will not test him. Better to let him wonder in the winter morning slush, still a stranger to the rush of springmelt flood. I am not his lab. I won’t be an experiment that fails.