I don’t know what it is that makes me club you so.
I only know I tether, administer blows—
On you I start thumping,
A la Marquis,
Then leather’s what you get;
I’m on a scolding spree.
I’m slappin’ till you’re blue—
I only want to beat limp you.

I love the bashing—that you know, and you don’t rue
Because you’re Sacher-Masoch to my Sade, it’s true.
It’s so symbiotic—mutual bliss;
I never knew that there could be a love like this.
You taste the cat, then mew;
Cries goad me so to beat on you.

My crop applied freely;
I lash you and you look askance—
You yell, "That cat causes no harm!"
Implore: “Demo your romance!
Now hit me, honey!!”

I just want to tan your hide; my leatherwear
Has got a netherworld ambience: dev’lish flair;
It’s quite smart if thumping
Is your hobby;
It ain’t exactly prête*,
It’s custom-sewn for me.
My haberdasher, Sue,
Would also like to beat on you.

Oh, oh, you’re cropped then smile at me
And ask me not to spare the lash—
I elevate my strokin’ arm
And pile on with thrash panache;
I jeer and belt you.

I just want to tan your hide; my every care
Has ended in the pleasure that we lovers share.
While you smart from thumping,
It’s ecstasy.
After our SM fest, you’ll put your pole in me.
I’m glad I’m thrashing you;
Atoning is what’s mete for you.
You say, your gland’s fat from lashings that accrue.
Guy, bone me, ’cause I’m sweet on you!


*prête-à-porter, ready to wear