Tales From The Dungeon (Learning the Ropes)

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    Tales From The Dungeon (Learning the Ropes)

    Rising but not quite shinning. Eyes half open she curses the early morning sun that spews through the cracks of her battered window blinds.
    She drags her ravaged and exhausted bones out of bed. She slowly makes her way down the hall towards the bathroom that somehow feels further than usual. Staring at her reflection she admires the left overs from the previous evenings indulgence and new found pleasure.
    The body canvas displayed many works in which the artist was in no way modest.
    A finely fingerprinted neck with assorted colors. Riveting rope burns on delicate wrists and tender ankles. Bite mark motives. Who knew? After all what’s an artist with out a little mystery?
    As the water from the shower began to beat down on her skin she winced knowing that this was only the beginning. She would pay the price for being a dominated and domesticated pet of pleasure.
    Dreading the day ahead of her, her mind wonders as painful smile comes across her face as she in no way regrets her naughty night time adventure.
    She feels it is well worth the suffering she will endure today and grow accustom to in the very near future.

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    MichaelTierney commented on Tales From The Dungeon (Learning the Ropes)

    01-15-2010

    I kind of like it. Although I feel like it is missing something, I am not quite sure what. I did like the line "dominated and domesticated pet of pleasure." maybe that is what I felt was missing, maybe it needed a little more word play. the poem definitely wasn't about rhyming but there was plenty of room for cleaver word play. Overall it was good

    PRober commented on Tales From The Dungeon (Learning the Ropes)

    07-07-2009

    yep, erotica... subject to the interpretation of the owner thereof...very good!

    dahlusion commented on Tales From The Dungeon (Learning the Ropes)

    02-15-2009

    This reads more like a short story than a poem and, yes, it's interesting in an erotic way.

    The true philosopher and the true poet are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a truth, which is beauty, is the aim of both.

    Ralph Waldo Emerson, American Poet (1803-1882)

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