To A Bored Domme

You stand akimbo, leather clad,
the ultimate of femme and bad;
and yet, I do not buy your sneer--
it is too pained, too insincere.
Despite your practiced flick of wrist,
your polished stance, your high heeled twist…
your tightened lips and narrowed eye
are less sadistic than they’re wry.


Your subjugates kneel and present;
of pleasure you show not a hint.
They kiss your boots, they beg to please,
your moue looks like you need to sneeze.


Oh Wielder of the Nine-Tailed Whip,
perhaps it’s time you took a trip?
Somewhere sans flogger, strap-on free,
perhaps a nice pink bikini?
Unwind those braids, let down your hair
peel off the rubber underwear;
unlace your corset, take a breath
before you’re Mistressed half to death.


(c) RCGA 2013