Caress the inner devil of my soul. 

Caress the inner devil of my soul,

bind my wrists with the softest,

deepest, reddest silk. 

Drape me in the prettiest black lace. 

Call to me. Call to my inner succubus,

whisper my name with the darkest shame. 

Stroke my pale soft skin. 

Teasingly awaken her, whisper to her from the depths. 

And when a whisper is not enough…

Plunge her into the screams of oblivion. 

Tear open my soul with raw abandonment. 

Make me scream and beg for her release. 

Bite her into existence,

Spank her for her resistance,

Take her with your insistence 

Own her with your persistence. 

Caress the inner devil of my soul

Release her,

Let my spirit grow. 

Tease her,

Let my spirit show. 

Caress her,

Be the reason that I glow. 

Caress the inner devil of my soul. 
Karen Hayward ©2016

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3 thoughts on “Caress the inner devil of my soul. 

  1. Good one, milady; powerfully evocative…. I’d imagine it might engender more than the usual amount of innuendo in the comments (as I see it has already). It won’t detract from its unconscious elegance (which is part of surrender, part of its charm, and power); not for me, anyway. I like it, & not just for the images it lends itself to suggesting to the inner eye….

    *smile*

    gigoid

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