Rectacide

Blindfolds on and wrists are tied

Engage in motions not yet tried

Whispers uttered to the degradation of pride

Asshole clenched around a phallic tide

To and fro the shaft will slide

Waves of heat when balls collide

Rhythm is slowed, the spit long since dried

He screams in pain, but consent’s implied

Blood adds lube from flesh torn inside

Holes are filled and tears are cried