Does it need to rhyme?

 Art by Bruno Sprats, text by John W. King

We've discovered a fabulous new artist, Bruno Sprats, and so we asked in-house author John King to fill the voids with a poem. "Does it needs to rhyme," he asked, "I need more time time for rhyme" (rhymes). No, it doesn't need to rhyme. There we go:

 Running his heart through his chest,
And his briefs,
Saving his powder,
Or so they promised.

Heapless ransom, 
Excessive boredom,
Calibrated pressure,
Overwhelming him.

He delves,
Beauty descending,
Prick first,
They are waiting,
They have plans he doesn't want to know.

He's lonely, he's fearless with his prick,
He can handle them, they can handle him,
He drops all pretension and his briefs,
Desire exposed, its so subtle.

Dick undulating, their chains around his neck,
Somebody gets the message and swallows his dick,
Hands around his shaft,
He assists.

Heat rises.
Loins, the word comes to his mind.
Caliber. Pretension. Thoughtfulness,
All the words that mean nothing when
Your in the throws of an ejaculation.

Stay tuned.

Brunos Sprats was born in New York on a dark day in March 1963 but never lived there. From his early youth he dreams were populated by fantasies of domination. His first love in high school were boys in the locker room. Himself well-hung, he spend much of his time scantily dressed. But he also likes running, swimming, and never fails to watch an athletic event. At 14, while living the summer camp life of horse-play & erections & ejaculations, he began to realize his true calling. To him the body of a man signifies the essence of beauty. Even now he visits the public bath every day, especially at the hour that the the men from the fire brigade come to exercise.

Bruno studied fine arts, but he also works as a sometimes model.