C.B.T.

I turn a deaf ear as I place another clamp,
It is the third and final one for the foreskin,
No other would fit in the small space.

The upset is for show,
It has been calculated and planned,
A safe word chosen just in case.

Shut up you little bitch,
I tell him with metered anger in My voice,
Take it like a man, little worm.

He squirms in the bonds he is suspended from,
The weights looped around his scrotum swing,
One is sorry Master, he apologizes.

Please, I huff, whatever.
Then I show him a fresh tapered candle,
Just be glad this isn’t up your slutty ass.

Oh, please, Master, he begs.
He is a definite novice,
His voice is filled with greedy lust.

Some other time, maybe, I tell him.
That is not what today has been set aside for,
I have other plans.

I pull out a tube of arthritis cr?,
Raising it to his eyes I make sure he can see,
Then I unscrew the cap.

What it that for, Sir, he questions.
One thinks it is pretty obvious,
I squeeze some into my hand.

The little worm moans and struggles,
A good slathering of cr? coats his hairless balls,
His shaft is ridged and pulsing with its own coat.

Cock,
Ball,
Torture!