#biglittle
She didn’t love being scolded
Or even the notion of being disappointing
But her mouth often had a mind of its own
Which brings us to this moment
The sass…
Stayed in her pants
Her brusquely exposed derrière
Laid down furtively over Sirs lap
She struggled to reconcile things
Feeling him fully dressed against her skin
And his incredibly warm strong hands
Pressing and caressing her
Each breath catching in her throat
Arousal deepening with his cologne on her
The way he controlled her was humbling
Unspeakably erotic and corrective
She was reduced to a little girl
Arms and legs writhing
With every cathartic blow
Spanked into a state of focus
Eradicating all doubt of her place
And all traces of bratty disgrace
She needed this
Him
This bliss from within him
He could disarm her without harming her
And the flood of treacle from her loins
He made her taste right off his fingers
He worked his way into her mind
Centering and possessing her
Before he was inside her sex
She always forgot her crises
When he brought order to her chaos
Dispensing his brand of discipline
Over his well dressed lap
She melted into him
With every ensuing butt slap
There’s so many lovely things about this poem, but let me just say this…
Ihate disappointing Sir more than anything.
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