He’s a fellow roped in sex truss;
And Vi is gonna beat
Him, as she shouts, “I’ll scold ya—
For both of them, a treat.”
She plies a belt of leather
On every body part.
And tightly he is tethered;
The cowhide hide does smart.

The maltreatments bring out color
That’s rosy, topped with blue. . .
Blends into a bright violet,
The mark of a boo-boo.
She don’t talk much during searing flays
And whips with rosary.
Yes, this fellow roped in sex truss
Beaten by this temptress, she!

Oh, his part is feeling weary,
But his “head” ain’t hanging low.
Once slack, it’s now engorgy;
It burgeons with each blow
The flay prongs his stout, soars, borne upward.
This kinky? You tell me.
But his phallic wood in sex truss
Is raised, swells as she belts me.