The Emperor’s birthday brings on a parade,
A showing of slaves captured in the last raid,
So the streets of the capitol, teeming with beauties,
Give proof that his nobles are glad of their duties.
Since I am the latest to grace Master’s stables,
I’m chosen to wear one of his golden labels.
My body is washed and then closely restrained
In the cleverest bondage that can be obtained.
I’ll admit that it’s odd to find such satisfaction
In being the center of this much attraction,
But somewhere within me is something I crave:
The joy that will fill me when I am a slave.
Now the bells at my breasts sing a beautiful song
As this ponygirl happily high-steps along.
They hang from the rings that now pierce my nips
And echo the bells that are strapped at my hips.
I take pride in my stride and the way that my knees
Rise high with each pace, for I know they will please
My Master, whose arduous ponygirl school
Has made me so eager to follow each rule.
With each hand twisted up towards the opposite shoulder
Behind me and strapped there, my posture is bolder –
I must stand erect, and without use of my arms,
The crowd in the street can enjoy all my charms.
I’m harnessed to Master’s new double-wheeled gig
In a manner that uses a shocking new rig:
Its tongue has been fastened between my soft thighs
And its pressures there make my erotic lust rise.
But excited or not, I’ve no time for enjoyment,
For Master’s whip finds so much need for employment.
If I stumble, he flicks it across my bare back,
And I wince at its swish just before its cruel Whack!
My collar, of course, with its chin-lifting brace,
Ensures that my head cannot turn from its place,
And this makes my punitive mouth-stretching bit
Completely effective, so tight is its fit.
It squeezes my tongue with each turn it commands
Through the reins that my Master holds firm in his hands.
So I turn when instructed, to the left or the right,
And scarcely have time to consider my plight.
This isn’t a race, but a display of power,
And we prisoners are lined up for more than an hour
To be driven in front of the Emperor’s throne
To be shown for his pleasure and maybe, it’s known,
To be chosen to serve as His Majesty’s pawn
For an evening of sex and then torments ‘til dawn.
Thus I’m torn between fear and the frantic desire
For something to quench all the erotic fire
That the rod in my crotch has so fiercely enflamed.
If only I hear that it’s I who am named,
I’ll gladly endure all the pain he can cause
When he’s brought me to cum more than once without pause!
I know that my Master will think it a prize
If Majesty chooses me – what a surprise!
But then I’ll return to my Master and plead
To stay with him ever, to serve as his steed.
END
