The Closet EXTREME AGAIN hr 17

She does not know he is there,
Her monster hiding in the closet.
Does not see the glow of his silvery skin,
Nor the metal piercing his face.

She does not know he is there,
Watching as she strips, lays supine,
Pulsating weapon between her legs; her toy,
But he bides his time suffering her exquisite game.

She does not know he is there,
As her body shakes in response, soaked,
Her monster waits until she collapses,
And reveals his grand presence.

His human, owned for years, kept,
With strict rules to adhere to,
When he leaves for hell or purgatory,
Must wait for her master’s touch.

As he approaches she turns on her stomach.
Subserviently she bares her ass,
His hand cracks down on it hard,
Almost as hard as the bulge between his legs.

She endures five further punishments,
Her monster rolls her on her back,
Thrusting deeply, her legs raised to his broad shoulders,
Her wet warmth entices him, as does her continued defiance.

His human’s lips swell as his hand clasps her neck,
Hell’s victims are a poor substitute for his willing slave,
As she dizzies he lowers her hips, driving up against her,
Her eyes meet his imploringly, and a nod of approval permits her to cum in tandem with his anticipated release.

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