JasmineUK

Dashwood

I was picked out from the workhouse,
Called from scrubbing room floor,
Pulled onto an enclosed cart,
Plunged into darkness by the heavy closed door.

Hard on the cobbled streets,
Bruised and whimpering scared.
The wheels turned clattering slow
Only forlorn hope raised if it dared.

Ears heard before eyes could see,
Another all such a whimper too,
Unable to speak a comfort word,
Such as heard to me are few.

Offered wish of a landed scullery,
Dashwood! - All she could utter,
A Wycombe refrain to fear a child,
Said to scour street and gutter.

A tall tale, for unruly and fools,
Pitted value of our labours,
A chair maker or the like,
Rather a Ghoul with drawn sabres.

A halt and muffled voices,
Opened and hauled into a dim eve.
A fine lady leads to warm,
Our eyes hooded with thick weave.

Uphill and a rough underfoot,
Then into air cool and smoked,
Downhill and echoes surround,
Our inner terror increasingly stoked.

A chamber deep is arrived,
Unhooded to a scheme in red,
Fine ladies encircle and paw,
Our ragged garms torn and shed.

We are naked stood and ogled,
Touched and played by all,
Bathed in cloths of milk,
Robed in white silk as rich to enthral.

Hair tied and crowned silver,
Into the chamber call the horn,
And ladies guide us down,
Into a cavern mass are we borne.

Centre stage to a rage of colour,
Brought to silence the unholy shrill,
All eyes behold us two shivers,
But for Master with cloak and bill.

Announced to the baying throng,
Lords, Ladies, and their kin,
Taken not for youthful toil,
But for our young unstained skin.

On show as like a prized ewe,
Be shorn of our silk fleece,
Bared, made dance and bend,
Torment and tantalise without cease.

Four rampant rams enter in line,
Masked but all else flaunted,
A sight beyond my years,
Stallion manhood undaunted.

What need a man with such a cudgel,
Yet four strut and prance,
Brought to our lip and hip,
To slap hard and take stance.

Demands from the Master scold,
And his bill swings near,
That we swallow each develish protrusion,
As if to swallow Satan's spear.

Held fast over a wooded stool,
Then each in turn about,
Impale me and she in deep agony,
Cries for mercy drowned out.

Prayer to a god unheard,
Fire followed fire and blood,
Into peaceful oblivion I may drift,
Token of the Hellfire Club.

Comments1

  • dusk arising

    Yay forsooth thou hast hailed mine devil within. Twas with lustful glare and throb of vein i poured o'er your versed debauch.
    But sated now, regained of composure i thank thee verbose wench and await the pleasure to drool once more , adios

    ...... upstanding hench



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