The Circus Is In Town

Roman frolics at Subterrain....

      -----oo0oo-----

Gather round me brave hearties
And a tale to you I'll tell
Of how a score of subbies
Faced the Roman Dommes from hell!

“All hail the Empress” hear them cry
As regal She approacheth
With feathered fans and glittered path,
And the subs, as ordered, doteth

The Empress on the stage is sat
Upon her throne, at ease,
While down below, the subbies cower
Upon their hands and knees.

And all around the Mistresses lounge,
And on cushions soft recline:
The trembling subs await their fate
To see what will unwind.

See Madam S as auctioneer
Corral Her shivering stock,
Then one by one to raucous shouts
They're mounted on the block.

For some the bidding's thick and fast -
For others, just a trickle.
But what is this - no bids at all?
Can fate be e'er so fickle?

Oh yes she can, - to purchase one
The Mistresses decline,
So put aside to feed the lion
Is the rejected 309.

But never mind - a second try
And he's sold for decent price.
The auction's ended, away slaves wend
To serve for pleasure and for vice.

Some get pleasure, some get pain -
Commands pour from the Ladies lips.
Some get to soothe some aching feet
And some get damn sore nips!

The candles glow, the sparklers sparkle
And from somewhere a cry of “How rude!”
But from over there, in the Empress' lair
Comes a faint whiff of burning pubes..

“Enough of this!” A loud voice cries,
“Pray douse that sub in flames -
Send your best upon the floor -
It's time for some Roman games!”

First there comes the tug of war,
But it's over in a flash.
The four who lost become four-in-one
Bound together for the lash!

Next comes wrestling, all sweat and grab
In heavy and middleweight bouts.
Around the floor the Champion struts
To the Mistresses' cheers and shouts.

And what a Champion is She
In filigree of brass.
With auburn hair and muscles taut
And a most delightful technique.

What chance would any subbie stand
Against this Gladiatrix
For she has a brass bound armoured crotch
And they free swinging pricks!

But oh dear me, the Champion's down
And She looks most displeased
But it's only a moment thereafter, then
Her opponent's on his knees.

There appear to be unsporting moves
- The Ladies yell for more -
Submission comes as She's firmly banging
His head upon the floor!

More bouts follow, until at last
It's time for chariot racing.
Some charioteers don't fancy it at all
By the look upon their faces.

But anyway, the races are fixed
- A truly Roman ride:
You've got no chance unless you're given
The track that is inside.

Prizes awarded - a Mistress's favour
Losers get a beating.
The Ladies cheer, and laugh and jeer
From the comfort of their seating.

And so the evening hurries on
There's food and flesh and bond
When over in the back room there
Snap! Crackle! ....violet wand.

Yes, Mss D Red's been shown how to plug it in
And what an ‘On’ switch is
- Assorted bottoms here and there
Are getting in a tizz!

It is a cling filmed circulatory,
Of that there is no doubt,
But who among the yelping subs is humming
‘The Magic Roundabout’..?

Snap! Pop! Fizz! The Empress finds
A selection of bums a plenty.
But when she wants to insert the probe
See how the room does empty!

But now the night is winding down
With “Ma'am, yes, thank you, Ma'am!”
They might be singed and bruised and fizzled,
But avoided serious harm.

A photo flash, some twitching bums,
And it's and end of all the strife:
What better way to close than with...

“Always look on the bright side of life
  Da da
  Da da, da da, da da....”

      -----oo0oo-----

For an alternative review of this unusual evening there is a review at London Fetish Scene (external link)

For poetry and other miscellaneous writing click the 'Poetry' link on the home page, or click here to go to the poetry index page.

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