Mercy, mercy, mercy.
The pain empassions me and gets the blood,
(and other juices) flowing.
At your Masterful hand,
I am bettered, beaten, and battered.
But the pleasure always follows close behind.
Equal in anticipation and intensity.
You will never hear
Mercy, mercy, mercy,
pass these bruised lips.
Cassandra Nightshade
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mercy-mercy-mercy/
