Poetic Justice

It started with a pair of shoes…
If only I had known what would
Befall when in those heels I stood!
A fate that I would never choose

An unrepentent man was I
So proud and cocksure in the way
I ruled her! Taught her to obey!
Her acquiescence was a lie

‘My Master, here’s a gift for you,’
She said, and gave a present wrapped
In gold and silver – very apt!
For nothing but the best will do

But shoes? And made for women’s feet?
I laughed at first, assumed they were
For her, but no, ‘They’re perfect, Sir
Please try them on – they’ll fit a treat!’

‘Absurd!’ I yelled. ‘Now get undressed
You will be punished, will be taught –’
And yet the glittering gemstones caught
My eye and fingertips caressed…

If only I had seen her eyes
The tears that trembled there had meant
Not sorrow, no, but merriment
Beguiled, I tried them on for size

Like Cinderella, in I slipped
My feet with diamonds now were set
Their beauty made me quite forget
My plan to have her caned and whipped

A sudden weakness made me fall
My clothing itched and burned my skin
I tore it all off – saw her grin
I scowled and grabbed my phone to call –

She snatched it from my hands and cried,
‘It’s I who gives the orders now
Your fate is sealed, I’ll show you how
I’ve squirmed and suffered at your side.’

Those cursèd shoes grew tight and hot
And vine-like tendrils twined and coiled
They wound about my legs and boiled
My blood with every piercing knot

I screamed and fought to stop their climb
My hands were useless, fingers numb
And soon the growth swept round my bum
Advancing faster all the time

My torso too was swift contained
A cruel and crushing tight embrace
I gasped for breath, a panting pace,
And helpless lay, consumed, restrained

In pain and terror, there I lay
Immobile, simply forced to wait
As through my flesh the tendrils ate…
How long I slept I cannot say…

I woke to find my body new
A slender frame, so firm and lean
My dark hair long, a glossy sheen
My skin unblemished, tender too

I screamed a high-pitched fearsome scream
As fingers felt between my hips
And found no cock, just pouting lips
I prayed, ‘O God! Make this a dream!’

She sat a-chuckling by the bed
‘You’ll serve me well, you evil whore
I’ll have them use you till you’re sore
And still you’ll beg for more,’ she said