Crimson welts

Posing in the office doorway,

making it so very hard to work,

because I clearly want to play,

dressed like this, with my taunting smirk.

Though I am well over forty,

in lot of ways, I am still a child,

because I still relish being naughty,

and sometimes can be totally wild.

I’ve tied ribbons in my dark locks,

and wear white blouse and old school tie,

pleated school skirt and long white socks,

showing an expanse of milky thigh.

Eyelids fluttering so innocent,

saying I’ve been bad, so very bad,

and really deserve chastisement,

for behaving like you forbade.

Ordered to bend over the desk,

trying to feign my reluctance,

playing my part in this burlesque,

by pleading for your forbearance.

Bending to grasp the other side,

my large breasts flattened on the top,

no longer does bare bottom hide,

lush target for that flogging strop.

Walking around, making me wait,

as anticipation does brew,

letting me contemplate my fate,

and the pain that will soon ensue.

Legs trembling with excitement,

when you take your place behind me,

and I await the commencement
for you to thrash the plump arse you see.

Ordering me to count the strokes,

before first lands on bare arse cheeks,

inflicting pain yet passion stokes,

as trickle of arousal leaks.

Those crimson welts upon white flesh,

voice grows more ragged with each strike,

knuckles whiten, and tense afresh,

you wield the strop just as you like.

Each time strop lands, I gasp and jerk,

but finally count to twenty,

stop to admire your handiwork,
for today that will be plenty.

Reddened buttocks marked and burning,

plump folds, so swollen and shining,

arousal easily discerning,

with which your hardness aligning.

Moistening your flesh, with my juices,

as you rub yourself against me,
over skin marked by abuses,

before your cock, answers my plea.

I groan softly, you stroke slowly,

into my burning, liquid core,

stretching and filling me fully,

as rhythm builds and passions soar.

Bucking and writhing beneath you,
muscles spasming and clasping,

screaming as climax courses through,,
as your own release leaves you gasping.

7 thoughts on “Crimson welts

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