Whirl and twirl, the bratty skirt sways, A vision of Dior, in soft, teasing ways. My $7000 designer touch, a sight to behold, A lucky slave's dream, a story to be told. I pirouette with a smirk, the handbag swings by, A symbol of luxury, under the watchful sky. "Are you worthy to stroke, to the rhythm I set?" My permission is currency, the highest bet. Hypotheticals dance on your desperate lips, "Pull down those pants," a phrase that eclipses. "Take out that cock, begin to your Queen's ass," But remember, it's me who controls your pass. To stroke, to edge, or to deny completely, The power is mine, as I tease so sweetly. Your pleasure, your pain, all for my mood, A grateful slave, in servitude to the feud. The V on my panties, a tease of what's inside, Victoria's secret, where your hopes reside. Denial is the key, the vault remains locked, Your desires against my will, forever blocked. You pray for a sign, for my pleasure's decree, A pussy-free slave, living for me. To cum, to edge, to deny, or to tease, Whatever I choose, you'll obey with ease. For you are my lucky slave, bound by my grace, In the shadow of my ass, you find your place. Grateful for glimpses, for moments so rare, My pleasure, your duty, the dynamic we share. So, will I allow you to stroke today? Hmm, we'll see, It's all about me, and what I decree. But rest assured, lucky slave, you're in my thrall, For even denied, you've won the grandest prize of all.