Byron-ish (after 'The Destruction of Sennacherib')

The subs fluttered down, candyfloss at the fair
Full of sweet hugs and with never a glare;
Their shiny clothes sparkled, all purple and pink
As their cute collars jingled, with a chink and a clink

Like clouds of pink satin spread out to be seen
The Princesses vied – all hoped to be queen.
Like rumpled pink satin, to the ground thrown,
Next morning they whimpered, with many a moan.

For the Angel of Doms leapt on each as she passed
And whapped her sweet arse – now each vied to be last.
The subbies backed off, eyes widened with tears –
Each fearing to gain those pink stripes on their rears!

But there each one was, spread wanton and wide:
No way to prevent Angel getting inside.
After servicing each he lay gasping and spent –
Poor little subbies’ pink clothes now all rent!

There lay the Angel, with a satisfied grin,
With sweat on his brow, enjoying his sin.
The subs were all silent, except the odd groan,
The Angel was happy – well sated, well blown!

Then the subbies broke out in a concerted wail,
And pulled at the chains on their ankles so frail.
The might of the dommly, unchecked by pink hordes
Had dampened their eyes – and their thighs weren’t ignored!

Epilogue ('cos it didn't feel finished)

So 'ware all you subbies, how'm'ever so pink -
The Angel will get you, whatever you think!
He's mean and he's tough - and ever so keen
To use and abuse all pink things to be seen!