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A Master, a Dom, and a Switch Walk into a Bar. ..

A Master, Dom, and a switch
walked into a bar,
Puffing, pricking, swaggering,
and posturing quite hard.

Each one maneuvering
to extol their kink,
As they sat upon their stools,
throwing back some drinks.

The switch with a smile
and amiable laugh,
Raised up his glass,
a pint of half and half.

“When I’m with a lover,”
or when she’s with me,
“Whatever she needs,
is whatever I will be.”

“On top, or on bottom,
there’s no need to choose,
For whatever I do,
I can’t ever lose.”

The master and dom both stared
in blatant disbelief.
United against companion
in both resolve and grief.

“You’re fickle, an opportunist.
How can you attest to hone craft?
When even you cannot tell if
you’re front, or if you’re aft?”

“Indeed!” rebuked the dom,
waving wild his gin,
“You require immediate correction…
where shall we begin?”

“First off: it’s submissive, not lover.
Now get with the program,
A good stare and a growl,
That’s how you will show ’em.”

“Tie them, and then flog them,
and they’ll quickly rush to knee,
Moaning, and panting,
and dripping with their glee.”

“And I must tell a secret ,”
though he seemed loathe to admit,
“Sometimes even I can’t believe
that we get away with it!”

The master sighed audibly,
Vogueing his “aloof,”
As he knocked down his scotch,
A double, 100 proof.

“Oh, my poor, misguided friends.
My cousin, and my brother,
Let me teach you what must do
to control another.”

“We don’t get away with it.
We take, we claim, we own.
Master of territory, of cunt,
and of home.”

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“If your desire is to make a
certain woman yours,
Put her to vacuum,
and then to mopping floors.”

“Make her hold her positions,
and sit child-like in corner,
Cages, and time outs…
all while you ignore her.”

The switch looked on skeptically…
“Does that really work?”
“I dunno,” shrugged the master,
“but I never have to cook.”

And as they sat debating,
and brandishing their drink,
exalting, extoling, extrapolating;
explaining their kink.

Into the bar strode a woman,
a most breathtaking sight.
Wearing a small, silver collar,
breasts high, with ass so tight.

The three men on their stools turned
and stared down to the last.
But she didn’t acknowledge them,
as she walked right past.

She glided up to the bar,
and smiled at its tender,
As he put hand on her cheek,
and with only look did send her.

Strolling silently to table,
she waited quietly in chair,
And then in another moment,
he went to retrieve her there.

Her eyes shone with a passion
walking proudly on his arm.
They made their way across floor,
heading to his car.

The master, the dom, and the switch
in a frenzied fuss,
Argued as to which of their brethren
that he surely was.

And at that very moment ,
the bartender at door,
Sadly shook his head,
as he crossed back over floor.

He stared at the three men,
as he stood right in their midst,
And politely, and very simply,
he said exactly this:

“It’s not the switch, or the dom,
it’s not even the master,
Who wields that domly ‘look’,
or cracks the whip the faster,”

“Whom a woman like that will allow
with collar to bestow her.
No, it’s ultimately the one whom she trusts:
he who truly knows her.”

“It’s not the name, my three sirs,
nor the posture, nor the art.
Rather, it’s the man inside to whom
she gave her heart.”

The master, dom, and the switch,
didn’t take much to correction,
Instead they descended as one
onto their skewed reflection.

“Who are you to tell us, or expound,
on what you clearly do not know? ”
Replied the bartender,

“I’m the one not leaving here alone. ”

Submitted by – acraft

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