Author: Miss Coochie Couture
The rope lays limp upon the floor
The whip returned to the back of the door
The scent of wax still lingers in the air
The sweat rings through every inch of my hair
The latex clings to me, like a cub to it’s mum
The toys lay silent, their work here now done
The energy, once electric, begins to now fade
The pool of sweat where once a slave laid
The lipstick stains, still caressing my feet
The session is over, my day is complete
