The Tale of the Sore Sub

Oh dear, oh no, oh what a fix!
My poor, poor dick—it’s been through tricks!
It’s flopped, it’s throbbed, it’s bruised, it’s sore,
I begged for rest—but they screamed, “MORE!”

First it was Mistress, tapping her cane,
Then came her friend—and they took me again!
Then a guest! Then a pair! Then a line out the door!
And just when I thought, “Surely no more…!”

A knock! A smile! A devilish grin!
“Oh good! You’re up! Let’s go again!”
I tried to protest, I tried to explain,
But no one would listen—they rode through the pain!

They tied me down, they climbed on top,
My poor dick twitched— but it wouldn’t stop!
It flopped, it flailed, it flinched, it ached,
Yet they demanded! And so it obeyed.

I screamed, “PLEASE, just five minutes flat!”
But Mistress said, “Oh hush, you brat.”
So up she went, she took her seat,
And POOF! There went my final beat.

Now here I lay, a useless lump,
A battered, broken, lifeless stump.
Mistress laughs, she pats my head,
“A night well spent—now go to bed!”

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