Tuesday, October 27, 2009


The girl is on display, a treasured piece,
her value greater after months of training
and control. She wears his mark, a curving
burning scar that only hints at searing
pain she welcomed when he made the brand.
She'd smiled her tears, knowing that the act of
marking showed his faith in what she was
and what he'd make her be.

So here she is -
naked, marked, and on display, soon to
give her hands and mouth and cunt and ass
to all who wish to sample the great Master's
latest work. The line is long. A line of
hungry, horny men, and women, too,
appetites aroused by what they see
and by the tales they've heard. They nearly drool,
bringing a wry smirk to eyes and mouth
of he who owns and offers her to all
who'd like a taste.

And now the fun begins.
One by one they take their turns - flogger,
cane, and spanking hand to start them off,
before invading every hole presented
to be raped. She's dripping cum, eyes
grown numb from such abuse, but deep inside
a glow because she knows her Master's pleased.

And when her torment's done, it's time at last
to serve the man to whom her soul was lost.
She does what he demands, submitting to his
evil whims while peering round the corner
just in case the Beast appears. She swallows
fear. He has her heart. And though he keeps it
in a jar with all his other trophies,
she still murmurs of her love while kneeling
there before his cock.

Her life is his.


nancy said...

And when all is said and done, it is that simple.
Her life is his.
So very well said!

Florida Dom said...

Very good writing. You captured the submission very well.


charlie said...

Wonderful scene. She feels that she has given herself up to her Master's wishes so she can be proud of her ownership and her Master- the slave has no opinion- only to follow his instructions without hesitation. Where is the mark of ownership? (Are you sure that your Jewish?)

Anonymous said...

I wrote a long post about "training" and it got eaten. But...the iambic pentameter gangbang? Hot. Damn.

mamacrow said...

'He has her heart. And though he keeps it
in a jar with all his other trophies
she still murmurs of her love while kneeling
there before his cock.'

sheer brilliance - all good of course, but this (imho) was the best bit!

Paul said...

OG, I have read many dreams of such total submission.
But very few even aspire to such perfection.
I doubt if even you can improve on this, but I'd love to be proved wrong.
You would be very welcome in this "Sceptred Isle".
Theaters we have aplenty, I used to be an academical, more years ago than I care to remember, though I fear, not Oxbridge.
Love and warm hugs,

oatmeal girl said...

Thanks, nancy. Although he's rather pissed at me right now... which doesn't change anything. I think the main problem is that he wanted to give me a lesson but I've had a sore throat since Monday. I'm holding up progress...

Thank you, FD. It was rather an assignment I set myself, to force myself to write a poem. Took a long time because I did it while watching "So You Think You Can Dance", which messed up the flow of my concentration.

Thanks, charlie. A few little corrections, though. You don't have to be a slave to give yourself up like that. It's all semantics anyway, to some extent, and who has the right to compile the definitive dictionary of BDSM terminology anyway? Still, the term slave doesn't apply to me. There was, though, a commitment made to serve him, and each time I submit, each time I obey, is a confirmation of the depth of my commitment because it is made willingly, right then, not under a blanket abdication of will.

However, the poem is fiction, and the mark does not exist. On the other hand, when he feels the time is right, it just might... and damn, my pussy hurts with arousal just thinking about it... He has described his technique...

Orlando, I'm so sorry to miss your piece on training! I do love your analyses. And of course you're the one who saw exactly what I was doing. I've tried it occasionally, iambic pentameter, and have found it hard to stick with. Even this time, if you pay attention you will see what the natural rhythm of the piece is, and how I forced it into the shape of my chosen format. I kept going back and counting out the beats before composing the next few lines.

Discipline... except of course that I was also watching the dancing.

mamacrow - you nailed it. I think that is the one honest section of a poem that was, as I've been saying, a forced academic exercise that I imposed on myself. I wrote that bit and said yes. Exactly.

Paul - he is quite serious about tossing me to a chosen few at the biker/thug bar, and has already been telling a couple of people about me. I am so utterly submerged in my service to him that I am relatively calm about the prospect.

Relatively... but much more so than a few months ago.

As for the Sceptered Isle, maybe one day I'll see a super cheap fare and just hop a plane! Sigh... not likely... money issues and all that. But maybe...