My mistress is an angel. Her eyes pierce like fire her whip brings me joy. The pain she brings is cleansing and brings joy to my soul. The wax does not hurt me but is the symbol of her love. As I lay immobile she shows me that she cares. Her whips are the manner that keep me in line. My angel dressed in black leather fallen from the sky for me. I am her slave her love and will not faultier from her commands. - Matthew Reno
Welcome to the Garden Theater Library! Stories, poems, events are re-posted here for later retrieval, and enjoyment.
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