By Dez Desire
You’re always on your back. And that’s because you don’t stand a chance against me. Any time I allow you to stand, I’ll put you out again. With a nice jab, or possibly a slam of some kind. Whatever I want to do to you, I can. But you inspire me, lying there all weak and puny. I step near your feet, bend over and I pick up both your legs, placing your shins, just above the ankles, under my armpit. I stand up REAL tall and that drags your head closer to my feet. You’re high on your shoulders, overpowered. This is fun, I think. I twist your body to turn you mostly to your chest, and the front of your face to face down. Your stiff back is now arched, your body mostly vertical to the ground. I kneel my knee on the back of your head holding it in place as I pull your legs into me, painfully arching your back even more. A modified Boston Crab, more brutal, rarer, more like me. You can thank me now, for this, but your cry out in pain instead, tap tap tapping away but, I don’t let go until I feel like it.