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By John Tustin
Over my knee –
The skirt pulled up,
White cotton panties down around the knees.
I slap and slap,
A sound like the crack of a whip
And she says Don’t and Why
But she doesn’t mean the command
Or the question,
Her eyes a little wet
And her four cheeks as red as roses.
Then, finally,
After so many sounds
Like the crack of a whip
And all that sigh and whimper
I dip two fingers in
And they come out
More than a little wet.
Her once-tense body melts toward satisfaction
And I press my hardness against her softness,
Tasting her on my fingers,
Read more of John Tustin's poetry @ http://fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry